The Cutoff Chronicles: An Icy Blaze
by AmyQueen95
Summary: North America has vanished, and the only evidence remaining of the Flock's existence is Lex Hardly, Max's daughter. Lex leaves everything behind in search of answers, and in the process becomes caught in a world she never could have imagined.
1. An Unexpected Patient

Hello, my loyal readers! And hi to anyone who's just dropping in to see what I'm all about. :P Welcome to my latest fanfiction: **The Cutoff Chronicles: An Icy Blaze**. And just in case anyone's wondering, no, it's not as intense/disturbing as my last story. I swear. Unlike my last work, _Invidia: The Unwind Experiment_, there will be no brains in boxes, sociopathic doctors, hallucinatory drugs, disturbing surgical scenes, or full body transplants.

Instead, our story begins in the near future, say three or so years after FANG. The Flock kept the world from falling apart, Max and Fang got back together, and everything turned out pretty good. That is, until one fateful night on the streets of Seattle tears them apart and the world as we know it is changed forever. And now over sixteen years later, with an entire continent cut off from the rest of the planet and a revolution hanging in the balance, it might be up to Lex Hardly, the world's only remnant of the Flock's mysterious legacy, to finish the job her parents started.

Obviously I don't own anything (well, the OCs I suppose, but I doubt anyone cares about them except for me), and I hope you enjoy my story. :)

**NOTE: As of January 30, 2012, I've uploaded edited copies of each chapter to try and clear up the errors I left in the first time around. Hopefully I've ironed out most of the blips this time.**

* * *

**1 – An Unexpected Patient**

Dr. James Hardly rubbed his temples exhaustedly as he closed down his medical clinic for the day. It wasn't a late night for him today, as was often the case with his overcrowded, understaffed establishment, but he'd had a full schedule filled with one tedious ailment after another—indigestion, ear infections, skin rashes (some in places that no human beings, even doctors, should have to go), and even a kid who had shoved eleven Skittles candies up his nose and then couldn't get them out. That last one had been slightly amusing, but overall it had been just another monotonous day in Dr. Hardly's life.

Once he was sure all the doors were locked and the lights were turned off, Dr. Hardly strolled into the lobby and towards the front door. It was raining heavily outside, as was common in the Seattle area, and he dreaded what the ride home was going to be like.

It took him a few moments to realize that there was someone taking shelter in the doorway of his building. When he did, Dr. Hardly thought to himself, _it must be another vagrant looking for shelter from the rain. Can't say I blame them on a night like this. _As he got closer to the glass doors, he saw it was a young lady, no older than twenty, wearing a denim jacket and jeans and Walmart sneakers. Her hair was drenched and tangled and it clung to her face, which was contorted into a pained, sort of exhausted expression. She looked ill.

Preparing himself for a potential confrontation or a medical emergency, Dr. Hardly stepped outside of the clinic into the sheltered area between the doors and the sidewalk. "Hello, miss?" he asked the girl, "I couldn't help but notice that you were sitting here and I wondered…" he trailed off when he saw the puddle of blood and rainwater mingling at his feet. He hadn't been able to see it from inside because of the shadows and the stiff denim jacket, but up close Dr. Hardly could see that the girl's breathing was pained and erratic, and that her clothes were streaked with red stains.

Suddenly her eyes opened, and she turned her head so that she was gazing directly at the doctor. "Please," she rasped, "I…I think I'm dying, all this blood…" she didn't say anything else, and she closed her eyes again to reserve what little strength she had left.

Immediately Dr. Hardly went into medical mode. After propping open the clinic door with a doorjamb, he scooped the girl up—it wasn't difficult, she was ridiculously skinny—and carried her into the clinic, moving her into one of the many examination rooms. He took off her jacket and gave her a quick look over; she had several abdominal wounds that were bleeding heavily, she'd suffered several blows to the head and torso, and her left arm appeared to be broken. Dr. Hardly found the supplies he needed and then got down to business, cutting through the girl's shirt so he could get to the wounds. As he'd expected, he found several knife wounds, which were messy but appeared to have missed the vital organs.

What he didn't expect, however, was to notice a set of wings protruding from the young lady's back.

* * *

Being the wife of a doctor, Emma Hardly was used to all kinds of sporadic behaviour from her husband—unannounced late nights, emergency calls, odd mannerisms when in the presence of raw meat. Still, she was a bit surprised when he came home carrying an injured girl in his arms, draped in a bed sheet and looking pale as death.

"James!" she exclaimed, looking to him for some sort of explanation.

"She showed up at the door of the clinic," he explained, "suffering stab wounds and a broken arm. I think she might have a concussion too, but I didn't check." He carried the girl down the hall and placed her on the bed in the guest room. "I couldn't very well leave her at the clinic door, now could I?"

"I suppose," Emma eyed the unconscious girl warily. "But did you have to bring her _here_? Aren't there shelters for girls like her?"

James frowned at his wife. "Firstly," he told her, "I think I should keep her for observation, at least overnight. Then we can contact friends, family, or whoever she needs to get in touch with."

"But couldn't you just take her to the hospital and—"

"That's where my second point comes in: I don't think we should take this girl to the hospital." Gently he rolled the girl onto her stomach, and then pulled back the sheet so that Emma could see the wings.

Emma gasped. "It's just like those kids from a few years back, the ones that were always on the news…"

"Exactly." James looked at his wife excitedly. "Honey, I think this is Maximum Ride."

* * *

It was several hours before Max came to, and by the time she did Dr. Hardly had already returned to the clinic. He and Emma had decided it would be for the best if they kept Max at the house for the time being—her condition was stable, and, considering her background, the thing she probably needed most right now was to stay hidden. After all, as far as the doctor could tell, she had narrowly escaped an attempt on her life.

Emma had been sitting by Max's bedside that morning, reading a magazine to pass the time. James had insisted that she be kept under constant observation for at least the first twenty-four hours, so when he had to leave for work she had taken up watching her. It was slightly startling, though, when Max suddenly opened her eyes and spoke, "Please tell me I'm not in a hospital."

"What? Um, no, no you're not… Max?" Emma replied, trying her best to explain, "We, uh, we, recognized you from the news reports a few years back—you don't look much older now actually—and decided you might want to lay low for a while."

Max's tense body relaxed a little bit. "Good," she muttered, calming down. However, the concern returned to her face a second later when she asked, "Wait, how bad am I? I mean, I got knifed a couple of times, but I couldn't tell what was blood and what was rainwater—"

"You're fine," Emma explained, "Your arm's broken, and you were bleeding pretty badly, but my husband was able to patch you up. No organs were seriously damaged, and even though your head was pretty banged up, James doesn't think you don't have a concussion."

"And he's certain that's all that was wrong?" Max asked anxiously. Emma nodded, and Max sighed a breath of relief. "I practically ran to that building, the one where he found me. At first I was looking for somewhere to hide, but then my adrenaline cut out and I remembered I was bleeding…"

"It could have been a lot worse if James hadn't found you when he did," Emma told her.

"Well, you can tell him thank you for me then," Max said, trying to get out of bed.

"Wait a minute," Emma interjected, gently pressing Max down into bed again, "I have strict orders to keep you on bed rest. No getting out of bed except to use the bathroom, and even then, we do have a bed pan if you need it."

"But I'm fine!" Max insisted.

"No, you're not," asserted Emma, using a firmer tone of voice. "You're going to live, but you can't put extra strain on your body right now. If there's anybody you need to call, then—"

"No, there's nobody."

Emma raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure? There must be somebody—"

"It's better for everyone if I just disappear off the radar for a while," Max told her, "At least until I'm well enough to get back to my mission."

"Your mission?" Emma asked.

"It's not safe to talk about it."

Of course Max would be the secretive type, Emma thought; her life probably depended on it. "Well, will you at least tell me how you got hurt?"

Max grimaced. "Well I was out with Fang, talking about what we should do next, when—oh man, Fang!" Her expression changed from one of reluctance to one of confusion and panic. She grabbed her head with her un-injured hand. "I can't believe this!"

"What happened?" Emma asked again.

"I-I don't think I remember," Max explained, "it's all kind of a blur. We were out walking, and then…" Max gave a frustrated groan. "I don't know! My head got beaten so bad that the details are slipping!"

"Honey, who is this Fang person?" Emma asked quietly, "Did he do this to you?"

"What? No!" Max stated emphatically, "Fang would never do this to me. You guys saw the news reports and stuff—Fang's my right-hand man, helped me with all the world-saving stuff. We got married last year! You must have seen it; Nudge snuck a camera into the ceremony and posted the video online, and it went viral. Made it onto the evening reports."

Emma noticed the silver wedding band that was hanging on a leather string around Max's neck. "Oh, you're right, I remember now. He was the dark-haired one." Max nodded in confirmation. "You just look kind of young to be married, I suppose."

A grim smile crossed Max's face. "I'm a big girl, Mrs…?"

"Call me Emma."

"I'm a big girl, Emma. I must be eighteen by now. When you've been through what I have, that's plenty old enough." Again Max groaned in frustration, banging her un-splinted arm against the bed sheets. "I just wish I could remember what happened to Fang! I know I was running away from something… wait! I remember!" she exclaimed, "We were in a park, I think, and these guys pulled up in a van came at us... really strong guys, who looked like clones or something. We tried to fight them, but they were too strong." Max squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated, trying to call up the memories. "I ran away, but Fang didn't make it." She cursed under her breath, and then said, "I guess they have him now, if they didn't kill him. Maybe they have rest of the Flock too."

"Oh." Emma wasn't sure what else to say. "Should I call the police, or…?"

Max snorted. "This is way bigger than the police, Emma. This plan's been in the working for years, and now they're trying to make sure the Flock doesn't get in the way. And I," Max yawned, "do not want to cause a stir and draw attention to myself. I was hoping to take care of this right away, but this injury's going to set me back for a while, and then there's…" she trailed off, not wanting to say any more. "Anyways, I'm not going to be in action anytime soon."

Emma shook her head, not understanding a word Max was saying. "You're tired—try to get some more sleep. That is, if you're not hungry."

"Surprisingly, no," Max remarked, "but I should probably eat something anyways."

"I'll get you some soup, then," Emma declared, standing from her chair. "Do you want half a can, or a whole one?"

Max frowned thoughtfully. "Better make it at least three or four—human-avians need a lot of calories." Then she added, "Also, do you have any oranges?"

"Oranges? I think so," Emma nodded and then left the bedroom, thinking, _if James plans on keeping this girl long-term, I might have to get a job just to pay the food bill!_


	2. Alexandria

**2 - Alexandria**

There _was_ a rather large increase in the grocery bill over the next few weeks, but Emma and James Hardly quickly took a liking to Max. Even though she was completely bed-ridden the first few days, and couldn't be persuaded to leave the house even after she was able to move around ("Either put me outdoors completely, or I won't go out at all, because I don't want to risk someone spotting me with you guys."), she was more than willing to help out around the house, or to simply keep Emma company. Being a housewife could be rather lonely at times.

One day, however, when Max was asleep and Dr. Hardly was home from work, Emma pulled him into their bedroom and asked, "James? I need to talk to you about Max."

James' brow creased. "Why? Is something wrong between you two?"

No, it's nothing like that," Emma smiled sadly. "Actually, sometimes I think being around Max is what it would have been like if we'd been able to have kids."

Then she abruptly changed the subject. "Have you noticed anything strange about Max?"

The doctor smiled wryly. "You mean besides the fact she has wings, eats more than a starving football player, and when she challenged you to a breath-holding contest in the kitchen sink she cheated by _using her gills to breathe underwater_?"

Emma blushed at the thought of the latter memory. "No, besides that. Haven't you noticed the way she keeps looking at herself in the guest room mirror, or how when I let her go through my closet, all the shirts she picked out were too big for her?"

"Max has a tiny frame. It's probably not easy finding clothes that fit right."

"And then the oranges," Emma pointed out, "she's always asking for them! If I forget to buy oranges, she eats the lemons. I've also caught her eating cereal and pickles together in one bowl."

"That's a little bit disgusting." James commented.

Emma rolled her eyes. Her husband was completely missing the point. "James dear," she told him, "I think Max is pregnant."

* * *

"Um, yeah," Max admitted sheepishly when James and Emma confronted her. "Oh, don't give me that look, Emma! I _am_ a married woman, after all."

"How many months along do you think you are?" Dr. Hardly asked.

"Maybe four months?" Max guessed. "I kind of suspected, but it wasn't until a couple days before you found me that I was certain."

"How did you find out?" Emma questioned.

Max smiled. "Would you believe me if I said a voice in my head told me I was pregnant?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "With you, Max, nothing surprises me."

Max raised her hands apologetically. "Now, I know you've only been keeping me here because I'm injured, but I'm almost fully recovered now, and I completely understand you not wanting me to stay here for another five months. So I was thinking that I'll pack up my stuff tomorrow, leave at midnight so I'll have the cover of dark, and then I'll head to the Rockies and find an empty vacation cabin where I can—"

"Absolutely not!" Emma interjected.

"Max," Dr. Hardly said sternly, "you are not going to give birth by yourself in an isolated cabin in the middle of Canada."

"But—"

"No buts," Emma insisted, "you're staying with us."

"But you've already done so much for me…"

"Stitching up a few knife wounds is pointless if you die of labor complications because you have no one to assist with the birth. You're staying here, both for your sake and for the baby's," James instructed, as if he were a stern parent forbidding Max to go out on Friday night. "Besides," his expression lightened a little, "we like having you around."

"Please stay, Max, for us?" Emma made pleading eyes at Max. "For the baby?"

Max relented. "Alright," she told them, an anxious expression on her face, "I'll stay."

* * *

_Five months later…_

"You need to push, Max!" Dr. Hardly shouted, "The baby's almost here!"

Max gripped Emma's hand tighter, her screams muffled by the gag in her mouth—they didn't want her shrieking to alert the neighbours, just in case the basement walls didn't quite cancel out the noise. It had been about ten hours since the contractions had started, and so far Max had been doing well; she had an incredible pain threshold. Still, giving birth was a challenge for even the strongest of mothers, especially since Max had gone into labor two days before Dr. Hardly's painkillers were supposed to arrive.

"You can do this, Max," Emma encouraged, squeezing her hand.

James shouted again, "Push!"

Max squeezed her eyes shut and shrieked one last time, forcing the last of her remaining strength. There was silence, and then finally, the sound of a baby crying. Emma removed the gag from Max's mouth, and Max's chest heaved and shuddered as if she had just run a dozen marathons. "How's the baby?" she asked, looking and feeling utterly exhausted.

James wrapped the baby up in a yellow blanket and handed the crying bundle to Max. "It's a girl," he told her proudly, "and she seems perfectly healthy. Has a nice-looking set of wings, too."

Max grinned tiredly at Dr. Hardly, a breath joyful laughter escaping her weary body. She gripped her new baby like she was the most precious thing in the world. "Alexandria," she decided quietly, after a long pause, "her name is Alexandria. Like the city." Then she handed the baby to Emma, lay back on the pillow, and fell fast asleep.

* * *

A couple weeks after the birth, Max sat alone in the kitchen with baby Lex, waiting for James and Emma to show up. She had tried all sorts of nicknames on Alexandria since she'd arrived—Alex, Xandy, Lexie—but Lex just sounded right, somehow. It had the same serious sound as the name 'Fang', and it bore a visual similarity to 'Max'. Maybe little Alexandria wouldn't grow up to be a name-shortener like she was, but Lex was the name Max was using as long as she was her mother.

Of course, if Max had her way, that might not be a very long time.

Finally James and Emma walked into the kitchen together. "You wanted to talk to us, Max?"

"Um, yeah," Max replied, looking a bit conflicted, like she was to make up her mind about something. The Hardlys sat down at the kitchen table with her, waiting for her to start talking. "You know how when you found me I had been in the middle of stopping another mad scientist plot? But then, of course, that whole thing with the van full of clones happened, and my window of opportunity to act was taken up by injury and pregnancy."

"We almost know about it," Emma replied. Max had been pretty tight-lipped during her stay.

"Well I was thinking," Max continued quickly and uneasily, "It's already the beginning of January, and if my information is right, I don't have much time left to act. I need to find Fang, if he's still alive, get back together with the rest of the Flock, and try and prevent this thing before it goes down." She grimaced. "I don't know if I can stop it in time, even if I don't get captured."

"Captured?" James asked, surprised by the notion.

"There are two groups trying to get me, I think: The guys in the van, who probably had orders to take me dead or alive, and someone else." Max frowned. "They lost my trail because of the rainstorm that night, but when I go back out there it won't be long before they find me again."

Emma was puzzled. "What are you trying to tell us, Max?"

Taking a deep breath, Max replied with some effort, "I want you… I want you to raise Lex for me." The Hardlys tried to object, but Max kept talking over them. "Look, I know you guys can't have kids, and I can't give Lex the family she needs right now. It's the perfect arrangement.

"If someone knew I was here with you guys they would have come for me by now, and since I didn't tell anyone I was pregnant no one will come after Lex as long as we're not seen together. Please," she pleaded, "at least promise me you'll take care of her until I think it's safe to come back for her."

James and Emma looked at each other briefly, and then James nodded. "Alright then, we'd be happy to take Lex in for you until you can come back for her."

Max nodded stiffly. "Thank you." Then she added, "I have two conditions though."

"What?"

"One, I want you to give Lex this letter when she's old enough to read it," she handed Emma a clean white envelope marked _'Lex'_ on the front.

"What's the second condition?" James asked.

"The second condition," Max told them, "is that you take Lex and leave North America immediately."

"What!" the Hardlys exclaimed, caught off-guard.

Max sighed laboriously and shook her head, not wanting to explain the full extent of the danger to them. "I know it sounds crazy, but trust me when I say something very bad is going to happen to North America," she warned them, an ominous gleam in her eye, "Go to Europe, Asia, Australia, wherever—I'll even pay for it with my card if you need me to—just leave the continent and pack like you won't be returning any time soon." She looked at the Hardlys gravely.

James ran his fingers through his hair. "Oh boy," he muttered. He repeated everything back to Max, "So you're certain you want to leave Lex here with us?"

"Absolutely."

"And you're adamant that we leave North America as soon as possible."

"Yes, and don't put it off any later than the eighteenth or nineteenth. If you can't do that, I'll have to ask you to place Lex with someone who can."

Dr. Hardly sighed. "Emma, what do you think?"

"I think that after spending six months with Max I can tell when she's dead serious about something," Emma replied, "and she's dead serious right now."

"So you'll go?" Max asked hopefully.

Emma nodded. "We'll go."

The worried expression on Max's face changed to one of reassurance and comfort. "You don't know how much I appreciate this," she told them, smiling with relief. "You guys are going to be a great mom and dad for Lex."

When the Hardlys woke up the next morning, Max was gone, and Lex and her cradle had been moved into their bedroom.


	3. Need To Know

**3 – Need to Know**

"Becca!" I groaned, "Tell me why, again, did you drag me into this?"

My devil of a best friend, with her jet black hair and evil smile, replied plainly, "You said you wanted to check out the End the Cutoff movement, so I took you to one of the gatherings."

"You said there was a conference in London, not that there was going to be a massive riot in front of the parliament building!"

"Conference, protest, what's the difference nowadays?" Becca winked playfully, and I rolled my eyes.

I guess I should probably explain this whole situation. My name is Lex Hardly, and this entire conversation is happening between me and my grazeface-in-crime Rebecca Thompson, while we're both in London. At the police station. In a prison cell because we were, quote-unquote, "disturbing the peace and destroying public property." And after we get out of here, I might be thrown in here a second time for murder.

Now, I don't want you to think that all Cutoff enthusiasts are fanatic Enders who hold giant protests and destroy civic monuments (like me and Becca, apparently, who got swept into a mob of people that knocked a statue over) or scream, "End division, breach the Barrier!" in the town square while handing out fliers. Some of us are just looking for some answers to the big questions, like:

"Who engineered the Cutoff?"

"What's on the other side of the Barrier?"

"How do we know that the Barrier's not just the edge of a heavy-duty radiation zone, and North America is a melted puddle in the middle of it?"

"Why is it so hard to breach the Barrier from the outside?"

Why is it _impossible_ to breach the Barrier from the inside?"

So far the answers have ranged from aliens to Raelians, from God's judgement to the wrath of the Illuminati. I'm still not sure what to think. I've asked my parents every single question I could think to ask about America, and I've read textbooks and articles and Cutoff-fiction novels obsessively, but so far I haven't found an answer that makes sense to me. I mean, how does a continent just disappear off the face of the planet, segregated from the rest of the world by a giant electromagnetic force field? Not to mention the tip of South America pretty much exploded, cutting off the only land mass connected to the lost continent, so you can't dig under the Barrier to the other side. It's surreal, in some ways.

Of course, so is the fact that I have wings. Or that my best and only friend Becca knew I had wings before I even told her.

But I'll get to my unnatural appendages and Becca's semi-psychic tendencies later. Right now, I'm still in the police station, trying not to kill said best friend. "You know," I told her, "we could have just gone to the university library like normal, intelligent, mature Cuts and done some more research—I hear they've added a lot of new books to their Cutoffology archive." Ah yes, calm, civilized library research. Much more preferable to sitting inside an over-crowded prison cell with a throng of fellow American refugees, who may or may not have been doing drugs before and during the riot.

"But we're _not_ normal Cuts, Lex—you're not normal!" Becca lowered her voice, "I mean, how many teenagers can say they're the lovechild of two international heroes, one being the legendary Maximum Ride?"

"Shhh!" I told her, worried that someone would hear her. "I told you not to talk about that in public. And don't over-romanticize it—I am _not_ a lovechild."

"The way you talk about them, you'd almost think so." Becca smirked at me. "It's like you think your birth parents are the gods, Faxchild." I didn't even bother reacting to Becca's jabbing—or her stupid nickname for me—with a response, which was what she wanted; I just stared at her blankly with a stony cold expression.

Becca was the type who needed to stir up some action every now and then; attending protests, getting into fights, driving her dad insane. It's not so much that she's rebellious or a bad kid—for all the times she's gotten me in trouble, my parents love her like a second daughter—it's just that she gets bored really easily, and she's always trying to let out all her built-up energy. Maybe her stupid behaviour is just teenage bravado, but at least she keeps me on my toes. And, in return, I keep her from joining Fight Club re-enactment groups and help her resist the urge to punch out Danny Kingsley from down the street whenever he calls us 'stick and stone' (which is not so much because Becca's fat—she isn't—as it is that I'm so skinny I make everyone around me look thick).

After realizing that I wasn't going to reward her grazefaced behaviour, she declared with a wave of her hand, "Everyone thinks you're so serious, Lex. Why don't you ever show anyone that you're as loud on the inside as I am on the outside?" She grinned at me.

I rolled my eyes and half-smiled back at her. "My mother was like fire and my dad was like ice," I told her, referencing a line in the note Max had left me, "so I guess I'm a bit of both of them."

"So, a cold fire?" Becca inferred.

"An icy blaze," I affirmed.

Just then our parents came storming into the jail, my mum and dad looking distraught and Becca's father looking like he might have a heart attack. He was certainly old enough to have one. "What were you doing?" my mother demanded distraughtly, looking like she might cry.

"I didn't realize—" I started as the officer let us out of the cell and turned us over to our parents.

"You didn't realize!" My mum raved almost hysterically, "How can you _not_ realize how foolish it was coming here?"

"Emma," my dad cut in, trying to calm Mum down, "we can talk about this at home."

I made eye contact with Becca one more time as her dad angrily escorted her from the prison cell and ushered her towards the front desk. She winced a little, but then grinned as if she'd just won the lottery. I just rolled my eyes again; that girl _liked_ trouble.

* * *

I was grounded for three weeks after the riot. I tried explaining to my parents that Becca had lied to me about where we were going, but my dad just told me, "I know Becca lied to you. But you should know by now not to take her word on everything." That's one of the downsides to having a crazy soul-sister that your parents actually let you hang out with: you're expected to know when she's trying to take you out for ice cream, and when she's trying to sneak you into the city and use your uncanny ability to imitate accents to convince everyone you're a pair of poor Russian immigrants in desperate need of cash and banana-nut muffins.

And yes, that really happened.

At the end of the three weeks however, Becca and I were back together as usual, hanging out in her bedroom while she drew pictures. Becca is an amazing artist. "Sorry again about the riot," she apologized, "it's just, sometimes I feel like a star trapped in a titanium shell—you know what I mean? If you don't let me out, I'm going to melt right through my confines."

"You're such a poet," I joked.

"Naw," Becca replied, glancing away from her drawing just long enough to smile at me, "you're the one who's good at English. I'm just the freak artist who has weird dreams and draws pictures of her best friend's parents."

I guess now I have to explain more about Becca and her 'gift'. It's not a mutant power (at least, I don't think it is, unless Becca's been lying to me for all these years and she's really here to steal my kidney for research), she just has this way of seeing things in her dreams, and of drawing things she knows nothing about. Things that seem to have a lot to do with me.

I remember the first day I saw Becca, when she and her dad moved next door when I was six. The first thing I noticed was that she spoke with an almost perfect American accent—most American refugee kids in the neighborhood spoke with a sort of British-American hybrid accent, even though we lived in a primarily American village, taking on a lot of English sounds and words from TV and school. For a little girl my age who didn't have an unnatural ability to learn accents and languages (which I do) to speak almost completely without English inflection, she'd have to be extremely sheltered and lonely. Maybe as sheltered and lonely as me, who'd barely been around any children my age because my parents were afraid someone would see my wings.

I didn't talk to her for almost a week after that day, but I learned a lot about her just by watching: she had a really old dad, no mum, she liked to draw a lot, and she was homeschooled like I was. One day, however, I decided to approach her while she was riding her bike on the street—or rather, she was in her driveway, loosening the bolts on her wheels in hopes of making them go faster. "My name is Lex. Your name is Rebecca," I told her plainly, "You're homeschooled too."

Becca stopped what she was doing and looked at me long and hard. Finally she asked, "Do you have wings?"

I'm not an easily startled person, but that question caught me off guard. "Yes," I replied with some hesitance.

Immediately Becca broke out into a grin. "I knew Daddy was wrong about my pictures! You need to see my pictures! Come see my pictures!" She took my hands and hopped up and down like a kangaroo.

She wouldn't shut up until I came inside and saw her pictures, so I did, and when I saw them I was amazed. Her bedroom walls, where there wasn't boxes or furniture shoved up against them, were plastered with pictures of children with wings—babies, teenagers, young adults—and pictures of scientists and labs. "You look just like this guy," Becca exclaimed, pointing to a picture of a dark-haired ten-year-old beating the snot out of another ten-year-old kid, "And this girl, right here!" she pointed to a sketch that was identical to the photo I had of my mother, with me in her arms and a wedding ring hanging on a necklace around her neck.

"Hey, that's me!" I exclaimed, pointing at the baby.

Becca grinned. "I thought so."

We spent that entire day together, Becca telling me about all her different pictures and me more than willing to listen to what she had to say. Ten years later, we were still inseparable. And she still draws pictures of my parents and the other bird kids.

"Done!" Becca announced, finishing the latest addition to her art collection. "It's a third-person this time, I think, but I hope no one actually had to see this." She held up her page for me to see, and as soon as I caught sight of the picture I turned my eyes away.

"I think I'm going to be sick," I said flatly.

Becca sighed. "Another one for the naughty box, then," she said, pulling the notorious cardboard box from underneath her bed. Not all of Becca's drawings were, shall we say, 'child-friendly', so if I deemed them too bloody, disturbing, or pornographic for viewing, she stashed them in the naughty box and never looked at them again.

I felt bad for her, since the naughty box was one of her few points of genuine shame. For as long as she can remember, Becca's had this innate tendency to have vivid dreams, as well as sudden urges to draw scenes that pop into her mind. Not all of those scenes have been pleasant, especially when she was a little kid and didn't even know what she was drawing, but it's worse for her if she doesn't get the images out of her head. She's tried abstaining before, and she pretty much deteriorated to the point of becoming psychotic. And so, she keeps sketching.

"I wish I'd come up with something more informative," Becca complained to me, "I was hoping that going to the rally in London would stir something up in me, maybe something about the Cutoff." She sighed, "But all I've been drawing lately is childhood scenes, lab experiments, and… that stuff." She glared at the naughty box. "I've had visions with words and read-outs on computer screens before, sometimes with some really interesting data. So why not now? If I'm drawing scenes from the life of Maximum Ride and the Flock, maybe one of them saw something that could expose the whole Cutoff conspiracy for what it is!" She muttered miserably, "Whatever it is."

"Maybe you're trying too hard," I suggested, "maybe your brain knows when you're trying to induce an emotional high to get the visions flowing, so now it's stopped reacting to your crazy stunts. Besides, we don't know how many of these pictures are accurate—there hasn't been any information available on the Flock since the internet reform, and my parents only remember so much. Almost everything we know is rumors and urban legend."

"Talk about a cover-up," Becca muttered in response. "What do I have to do to get some decent drawings, jump off a cliff again?"

"If you do I won't catch you this time," I warned her, grinning at that rather _interesting_ memory. Then I got more sombre, flopping onto her bed and staring blankly at the ceiling. "I was doing some thinking while I was under house arrest," I told Becca quietly.

"Thinking about what?" she asked, intrigued by my demeanor.

"Thinking about the direction my life is going… and about breaching the Barrier."

Instantly Becca put down her pencil and straightened up in her seat, now listening attentively. "I thought you decided to put off breaching the Barrier, at least until you graduate in two years."

"Why?" I asked her with a tone of pointlessness, "Why should I finish school if I already know what I want for my life?"

"But going to North America?" Becca shook her head, "It's so final, like death. You go in, but you don't get out. In fact, nobody even knows if you actually do get 'inside' the Cutoff zone; for all we know, you could turn into pudding as soon as you hit the extreme radiation zone."

"But I need to know, Bec," I told her, "I need to know what happened to North America. I need to know if you dissolve into slime if you enter the Barrier. I need to know if the continent has been infested by aliens. I need to know if the Cutoff zone is part of another dimension." I sighed, "Also, my birth parents might be there. If they're even alive, that is."

Becca looked at me with her wild but sometimes thoughtful eyes. "I know you have to do this," she told me quietly. "It's just… to risk your life for a set of parents you don't even know? To leave everything behind? Not even I have the guts to do that." She shook her head. "And if you're gone, I don't know what I'm going to do." She smiled sadly. "Last I checked you're the only friend I have."

I walked over to Becca's drawing table and sat next to her. "Becca, you're every bit as brave as me, if not more. But you don't have the same… the same calling I do. I know what I'm doing is crazy—when I get on that boat, I'll probably be surrounded by grief-paralyzed Cutoff widows and Cut extremists—but I'll go crazy anyways if I don't. It's like you and your drawings; you don't always want to do it, but you have to.

"Besides," I added light-heartedly, "Who knows? Maybe one day you'll come around and decide to join me in the Cutoff zone." I grinned and reminded her, "Make sure you breach at the west coast if you can, though, because I plan on flying across that continent all the way to Seattle, where my parents used to live."

"Maybe I will," Becca remarked with a wry expression, "Hey, you sound a bit like that song they play on the radio about Seattle." She grinned and started singing,

"_Gained the world, lost my city_

_The Barrier blue like a river flowing down_

_But, baby, baby, no Barrier will keep_

_Me from old Seattle, my home town"_

"That was so off-key," I told her, laughing loudly, but I joined in on the second verse and we sang random songs together until my mum called and told me it was time for me to come home. After I hung up, I looked at Becca sadly. "I guess I have to go now."

"When are you leaving for the Cutoff zone?" she asked.

"Who says I've bought my spot on a breaker crew yet?"

Becca raised her eyebrows. "Please," she told me, a knowing glint in her eye, "you do realize you're speaking with a British accent right now, right?"

Inwardly I scowled at myself; I switched accents when I was distracted or nervous about something. "I'm leaving tonight," I admitted, "but I don't want to tell you where I'm going in case my parents grill you for details. It wasn't easy, finding a crew within my price range that had decent gear, but I think I found a good one. I have to get there for four in the morning, though, or else they'll leave without me." Barrier breaching was an international crime, so you had to build and sail a breaker ship with extreme caution, often setting sail in the dead of night. One false move and I could be shipped to prison—or a psychiatric hospital, depending on how crazy they thought I was for signing on.

"Well, I'm not getting up in the middle of the night to send you off," Becca declared finally, "so I guess this is goodbye." She leaned forward and gave me a hug, which I naturally returned. Neither of us were criers, so we just sat there silently for a while, embracing and trying to capture these last moments in our memories.


	4. The Last Night

**4 – The Last Night**

Eventually my mum called my cell phone again, telling me to hurry up. I guess we had been hugging longer than I realized. It was only after that call that Becca remembered, "Oh! You should take some pictures with you!"

"Pictures?" I asked.

"Of the winged kids, the ones who are probably the Flock. Just in case you run into them. Let's see," Becca murmured, looking around at the mass of sketches tacked onto her wall, "we should pick the photos that are most recent—the ones that make them look oldest. So we'll take this one of Strawberry—"

"You have such weird nicknames for these guys. Did you even _try_ finding out their real names?"

Becca, of course, ignored my remark. "You can take this pic of Cutie One and Cutie Two—"

"Bet they're all grown up now."

"This wonderful picture of Super Model—"

"She _is_ quite stylish."

"And last but not least, a picture of _Fang_, your dark and mysterious father." Becca wiggled her eyebrows at me, and then looked more closely at the drawing. "You know, Faxchild, your dad's actually kind of cute. Actually," she told me suggestively, "he's the complete sexy package."

I gave her a strange look. "Becca, that's kind of disgusting. He'd be in his thirties by now."

"But he's not in his thirties in this picture, now is he?" Becca waved the sketch in my face, and then handed the stack of drawings to me. "Now, if by some crazy chance you actually make it out of this adventure alive, come back and _tell me _who these people are! Seriously, do you know how frustrating it is to illustrate someone's life and not even know their name?"

"I promise," I told her, opening her bedroom window. "Well, goodbye for now." I crawled out of her window onto her roof, and jumping off the edge I glided across the gap between our houses, landing silently in front of my own bedroom window. I gave my wings a flourish for extra effect, and shot Becca a smug grin.

"Show off!" she called to me laughing, before getting serious again. "Well, goodbye Lex, and good luck." Finally, she closed her window and pulled down the blinds, ending our time together—maybe forever. I sighed, and then crawled into my own bedroom.

Once I was inside I walked across the room lay down on my bed, suddenly feeling a heavy weight on my heart. Could I really go through with it? Could I run away in the middle of the night and sail across to North America, never to return? Horror stories of Barrier breaches gone wrong flooded my mind, but pushed them aside the best I could. I filled the empty space by chanting random words and poems in different languages—one of the ways a mutant like me de-stresses. _Russian, Polish, French, Pig-Latin, real Latin, Greek…_

"Honey?" my mum suddenly interrupted my language session when she entered my room.

"Yeah, Mum?" I asked, feeling a little wound up. It was as if I was scared she'd read my mind and uncover my whole scheme.

"I just thought I'd come say goodnight." She paused briefly, sensing my tenseness. "Are you alright? You've seemed a bit distant lately, ever since the riot." She looked at me with big, concerned eyes. "Did something happen that you want to talk about?"

I felt guilt rising from the pit of my stomach as I looked into her worried eyes. "No," I told her, maintaining a cool façade, "the riot just got me thinking about things. About life."

"Alright then… well, goodnight." Mum did her best to smile at me, but clearly she was still worried. If only she knew exactly how worried she should be. "I love you," she said as she left the room.

"I love you too."

Once I was alone again, I hit my head against the pillow several times and groaned. My parents—not my birth parents, but the ones who raised me and had always been there for me—would probably be the hardest thing to leave behind. I adored my parents, and my parents adored me. They were great people, and they didn't deserve to have their little girl run away and desert them, to practically (and maybe literally) die to the world. It was hard, leaving someone you loved so much, someone you owed your life to in many ways. But I think Mum and Dad have always known I'd go back someday, that either Max would come back to reclaim me or I'd go out and reclaim her. In some ways, I think, it was that sense of borrowed time and entrustment that made them such good parents. I'd miss them, a lot.

I stayed motionless on my bed for another couple of hours, resuming my nervous chanting. I knew I should probably sleep while I had the chance, but I was too excited; too anxious; too terrified. Eventually I began chanting the words of the letter Max had left me when I was a baby. My parents had given me the letter on my tenth birthday, and I'd read it over and over religiously until it was burned into my mind. I knew it word by word, phrase by phrase…

_To my dearest Alexandria,_

_If you're reading this, it means I actually had the courage to do what's best for you and leave you in the Hardlys' care. Please don't hate me for trying to do what's best for you, and don't hate James and Emma for not being your birth parents. They can give you a better life than I can. So, at least for now, you're their daughter, not mine. I'll hate every day I have to spend away from you, and I promise, if I'm alive by the time this whole thing is over, I'll come back for you. Right now I just need to know you're safe, I need to know that someone will take care of you and give you the childhood I never had. _

_I'm looking at you right now as I'm writing this letter, trying not to cry as I watch you sleep. You look so much like your dad, but at the same time I can see so much of me in there too. I wonder what you'll be like when you get older: will you become like your cool, quiet, selfless father? Or will you be like me, a flaming fighter who won't go down without a struggle? Or maybe you'll be a little of both of us, a mixture of fire and ice—an icy blaze. All I know is that whoever you grow up to be like, you'll have an unstoppable spirit and a heart as big as the sky. _

_There are so many things I want to say to you, and at the same time I don't know what else to write. Just remember this: you were never a mistake. I always wanted you, and if there were any other way to keep you safe I wouldn't have let you go. I love you, I'll miss you, and promise me that you won't let anything make you bitter or angry. I hope that I'll see you someday soon._

_Your mother, _

_Maximum Ride_

Every time I read or recited that letter, it sent chills down my spine and made my heart ache for the mother I'd never met. I knew so little about her, and yet she was my hero. It was that letter, and the hope of meeting my birth parents, that kept me going; that made a normally sensible girl like me throw her life away in search of the past. I had to leave this place behind and find myself.

Eventually the time to leave drew near, and I knew I had to get ready to go. I dragged my backpack—which was full of food and supplies and other survival tools, just in case the Cutoff zone turned out to be a dangerous wilderness—out from under my bed, and double-checked my list to make sure everything I'd need was there. Then I took my special leather pouch (it's designed so that I can carry small objects while I'm flying) and filled it with family keepsakes: Max's letter and photo, Becca's drawings, a photo of my parents, and a few other mementos and snapshots I wanted to keep with me on my journey. The pouch itself was a keepsake, in fact, because my dad made it for me when I was four, and he'd used my old yellow baby blanket to make the pouch lining. I'd wear the pouch under my shirt, nestled between my wings, just in case I encountered thieves and they took my backpack.

When I was done my packing and I started changing into my travelling clothes, I caught site of myself in my full-length mirror, which was leaned against the wall. I stopped and analyzed myself, as I often did. I looked the same as I always had: I was 5'7, skinny, all muscle, and had skin that was lightly colored but reflected no apparent ethnicity. My eyes were brown, my face angular and solemn, and my wavy hair was a strange sort of clay brown color, as if someone had started me off with dirty blonde or mousy brown and then added a touch of black to make it darker. It wasn't an ugly color, but it was definitely unusual—though I guess weird genes were to be expected in my family.

I remember when I was younger I used to take Becca's sketches and stand in front of the mirror, trying to figure out which parent I resembled the most. I never could make up my mind though; I could see so much of both of them in my features and expressions. My wings had taken more after my mother's, according to Becca, though she said that when she saw them in her head Max's wings were lighter-colored than mine. Other than that, though, I was an even blend of both of them—day and night, light and dark, fire and ice.

I stood in front of the mirror for a couple more seconds, sighed, and then finished getting changed.

When it was finally time for me to go, I snuck downstairs to the kitchen, placed a carefully-penned goodbye letter to my parents on the table (in keeping with family tradition, I thought to myself), then I took the car keys and went out to the car. The backpack was heavy a too heavy for me to reasonably fly the entire distance and make good time, so I'd decided that I would drive to a small town only a few minutes from the breaker launch point and then (literally) wing it the rest of the way. The police would find the abandoned car eventually, but by then I'd be long gone.

I threw my backpack into the back of the car and then got into the driver's seat. I stuck the key in the ignition, and then paused. I looked up at my house one last time—the only home I had ever known. I was finally doing it, I realized, after so many years of planning and saving my money I was finally leaving everything I knew behind. Was this idea completely insane and dangerous? Yes. Was I actually going to go through with it? Absolutely.

"Goodbye," I whispered into the silence, turning the key in the ignition. I pulled out of the driveway, and just like that, I was gone. I was officially running away to North America.


	5. Breaching the Barrier

**5 – Breaching the Barrier**

Three days later I was out at sea, sitting idly inside of a breaker with half a dozen other passengers as we watched the captain navigate the boat. I was lucky, I decided, when it came to the crew-mates I ended up with: the captain, a cheery British fellow in his forties, was a fellow Cut who had simply gotten bored with average life and wanted some adventure. The rest of the "crew" (though we didn't do much of anything but sit around and sleep) consisted of three terminally ill cancer patients from Ireland, a missionary couple named the McNaughts who were from Scotland, and a slightly unstable young rebel named Dave who, despite his oily hair and his 'AMERICA LIVES' t-shirt with an outline of the Cutoff zone traced onto it in blood red, was mostly harmless.

"We're getting close to the radiation zone," the captain announced, pointing to his read-outs, "so be prepared to suit up pretty soon. And remember, it may get hot, so remove any metal and plastic on your person and place your belongings in the special coolant units under the seats."

I wasn't wearing any jewelery or anything like that, but I placed my backpack in one of the units so that my supplies wouldn't fry when we went through the Barrier. Coolant units were fairly standard on breakers, and according to the research I had done this type of breaker, known as a capsule, had a good amount of storage space so that you didn't have to worry about your belongings melting.

Capsules were a fairly common type of breaker; unimpressive, but well insulated, speedy, and cheap to build. These things were practically impossible to sink—if a wave flipped it over, you could literally sail the rest of the way upside down. The innermost lining was rubber foam, followed by a metal hull (or a hull made of carbon nanotubes, if you knew the right people), which was then followed by another series of layers designed to block out radiation and deflect energy—this breaker was even designed to redirect some of the energy to the motors to help the ship fight the Barrier's resistance. There were no windows, which was a good thing, considering the amount of electromagnetic power we'd have to cross through at the Barrier could shatter glass and fry us all to crispies. Instead, the captain navigated mostly electronically, with several video feeds from cameras on the outside of the hull giving him visual assistance.

I had considered saving up longer for a crew that used a better quality boat (literally half of this capsule was probably from the dump and the recycling depot), but in the end I decided a capsule would suffice. The Barrier is the Barrier, after all, whether my breaker is made of iron or of old refrigerator parts. Besides, larger, fancier ships had a lower Barrier breaching success rate because of their size and reliance on electronic equipment—the bigger, faster, more electric your transport was, the more likely you were to have a system failure and get spit back out by the Barrier when you couldn't propel yourself against the resisting force. At least, that's what I read online—I wonder how many people actually tangoed with the Barrier, lost the battle, and lived to go back and tell people about it?

Speaking of the Barrier…

"Alright," the captain announced to the crew, "we will be approaching the danger zone in five. Please get your suits on immediately and trigger the cooling agents—it's going to get steamy in here!"

Quickly we began donning our special anti-radiation, chemical-powered cooling suits (like glow sticks that you wear on your body, except they get cold instead of bright) that would help Shield us from any stray radiation and from the Barrier's heat. Everyone put them on except Dave, of course, who always put up a fight whenever someone told him to do something. "I don't take your orders, dude!" he declared in a stark (obviously forced) American accent, "I came here to pown the establishment, not wear that epic fail of a suit!" Ah, Dave: the embodiment of all those Americanisms that should have been forgotten years ago.

The captain, of course, was not in the mood for Dave's antics. "Unless you want to risk being fried to the point of impotency," he warned, "I suggest you put on the suit and helmet and _shut your pie hole_."

Predictably, Dave backed down after that, since it was obvious he wasn't the fearless anarchist he portrayed himself to be. "Take a chill pill, dude," he sniveled, slinking over to the last unused suit and putting it on, "Don't have a cow."

Soon we were all suited up and ready to go—coolants activated, helmets sealed, and luggage safely stored. I felt my wings bristle nervously against my leather pouch (which I still wore under my clothes for safekeeping) as we grew closer to the danger zone. Apart from a couple of offhand comments—one of the cancer patients joked that he ought to take his helmet off and see if the radiation would be strong enough to cure his tumor—we remained perfectly silent.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the captain announced through the in-helmet microphones, "we are officially in the danger zone." Everyone was clearly bristled by the announcement, but other than a few whispered prayers from the McNaughts we were all silent, trying to gauge whether or not we could sense a difference. Was it getting hotter in here? Is it just nervousness, or I do I feel sick because the suit's not working properly? I told myself that it would be a while still before we felt any real change—the radiation zone stretched out about one hundred kilometers from the bluish electromagnetic shield that constituted 'the Barrier' itself, and according to most sources there wasn't a significant increase in temperature until about the twenty kilo mark. Still, you couldn't help feel a little paranoid, wondering if the itch in your neck was really a sign of radiation leakage.

However, after a while the paranoia became denial as we came to the conclusion the discomfort we felt was all in our heads. That meant we were reluctant to acknowledge the change in temperature when it actually did come. We couldn't feel the change at first, but we could sense the churning waters as they rocked the boat, as well as see the faint shimmering that appeared in the distance on camera, filling the sky. I knew immediately what the shimmering was—the Barrier, which blended in seamlessly with the blue sky from a distance, took on an iridescent property once you got within about ten kilometers of it. I could actually see the power flowing through the force field, crackling and warning me, "Stay away, I was not made to be crossed."

Yeah, well, humans weren't made to fly either.

"Brace yourselves, mates!" The captain cried excitedly, "And strap yourselves in; it's getting rough out there!"

We did as he said and buckled ourselves in, preparing ourselves for imminent danger and likely death. I anxiously grasped the handgrips hanging from the wall, bracing myself against the hull as the waves got worse and worse. The breaker was unbelievably fast on open waters, but the waves here were so aggressive we were barely at a crawl, slowly pushing our way forward. I caught one last glance of the captain's video monitor, which was filled with violent waves and a crackling blue sky. After a few seconds, however, the cameras died, as did the lights on the inside of the breaker.

"Calm down!" The captain told the ladies (and Dave) who had started screaming when the cabin went dark, "This is common! As long as our motors are still running, we should still make it!" 'Should' being the operative word,I thought to myself.

At that instant I became aware of a slight increase in temperature inside my suit; not enough to make me sweat, but enough to let me know things were about to get extremely unpleasant extremely quickly. The suits kept us cool, but not cool enough to shelter us from the full wrath of the Barrier. "Here we go," I muttered to myself.

No sooner than I had said that did I feel a sudden jolt pass through the breaker—not the type of jolt you'd feel, say, if your car hit a pothole on the road, but the kind of jolt you'd feel if about a hundred lightning bolts hit your car at once _while_ you were hitting the pothole. The breaker shook violently, the McNaughts prayed loudly, and Dave squealed shrilly like a stuck pig. I could feel the heat seeping into the failing capsule, melting the rubber foam on the walls and pressing on me from the outside of my suit. Everyone was terrified. _I _was terrified.

_I'm going to die. I'm really and truly going to die._ I would never see North America, I would never find the Flock, and my parents would be left childless and alone in England, never knowing what happened to their little girl. As the screams and prayers got louder and the heat became more and more unbearable, I whispered, "Please let it be over quickly."

And then I blacked out.

* * *

…And Lex died, Max and Fang stayed missing, and nothing else interesting ever happened.

Heh, yeah right.


	6. The Cutoff Zone

Alrighty, time for another update! :D You're in luck-today I've decided to post two chappies. I told myself I wouldn't this time around, since almost all my chapters are 1500+ words this time, but, well, this chapter sort of freaks me out. So I'm posting a second one later to help balance it out.

Oh, and a shout-out to all my reviewers, with a few words' reply:

**nathan-p** - Thank you so much for the awesome feedback. :) Your comments/critiques have been duly noted. And no, there's no pseudo-Victorian society on the other side of the Barrier. ;)

**AngelwiththeClippedWing**s - Haaaaaiii! :P I don't really need to say anything else to you.

**StarsLeanDownToKissYou **- So glad to have a new worshiper. ;P Awesome name, btw. I love Owl City.

**RaylenaNaraen **- Leela, give me back the keys to the reviewer-proof shelter or something bad will happen to your ducks. :X

I hope I haven't missed anyone. Anyways, without further adieu, here's today's first chapter!

* * *

**6 – The Cutoff Zone**

I honestly thought that the next time I opened my eyes I'd find myself at the pearly gates—or below that, if that turned out to be my destination. What I didn't expect was to find myself lying inside of a small tent, with Mrs. McNaught the missionary leaning over me and saying, "Hello, are you awake yet? It's alright, we made it through the Barrier."

"W-what?" I croaked, feeling a bit groggy and confused.

"You passed out when we crossed the Barrier," she explained, "but we're on the coast now. We carried you to the campsite."

"Oh," I said, slowly sitting up. "Um, thank you."

Mrs. McNaught smiled. "You must be hungry."

"Starving," I confirmed.

"Well come outside to the campfire and we'll find you something to eat." She helped me out of the tent and led me out to the makeshift fire pit, which had logs positioned around it for sitting on. I sat down on a log next to the captain, who handed me an open can of soup. I accepted it eagerly.

After eating, I got the lowdown on what had happened while I was unconscious. We had breached the Barrier about four hours ago, and an hour after that we made it to shore. Dave left once he realized he'd have to help set up camp if he wanted to stay there, marching off into the forest with his supplies while shouting old clichés and misquotes of presidential sayings. No one was especially sad to see him go.

The captain asked me if I planned on traveling with the group, which was heading north towards Canada. "No, thank you," I told them politely, "I have my own travel plans set up already." I told them that as soon as I was done eating I was going to take a look at the ocean and then start my journey west.

"Alright," the captain told me with a grim expression, "but you might not like what you see along the coast."

And he was right. With the Barrier cutting off all natural air and water flow, the sea was brownish gray and rancid, with dead birds who had gotten too close to the Barrier washed up on the rocks. The radiation was, according to the captain's instrument read-outs, practically non-existent on this side of the Barrier, but if you looked hard enough you could find a crackle of blue shining through a thin spot in the smoggy, overcast horizon. I wondered if the sky was always gray in the Cutoff zone.

As much as I was saddened by what I'd seen of the condition of my native country thus far, I couldn't say that I was especially surprised. Years of reading other people's speculations and theories had prepared me for the fact that things might not be so great on this side of the Barrier. It turns out they were right.

Once I was done staring out at the ocean, I bid my final farewell to the group and then headed west, using my internal sense of direction to guide me—and before you try to tell me how stupid it is to wander out into the wilderness without a compass, let me remind you that I _am_ part bird. When I say I have an internal sense of direction, I literally mean I have an internal sense of direction. How do you think I keep myself from flying in circles all day long?

Not that I did any flying that first day in America; even though my backpack was much lighter after I'd used some of my supplies on the breaker, I went on foot, getting a feel of the land. Even though the ecosystem was obviously in shambles, the pine forest I was traveling through was dense and crawling with life. Birds, bugs, squirrels, deer—they were all there. A good thing to know if I ever needed to get my hands on some extra rations.

It was probably a good two, three hours before I came across Digsby—at least, that's what I think the place was called, since it had an worn, splintered sign reading, "Welcome to Digsby!" standing next to the old highway that ran alongside the tiny cluster of houses and industrial buildings. My first glance of American civilization.

Against my better judgment I stepped out of the woods and into the opening where the tiny town (if you could even call it that) was situated. I wandered through the place like a wayward tourist, taking in the environment of the town. What I saw nearly broke my heart: broken old houses overrun with dirty, underfed children; drunkards sitting in alleyways and at street corners, laughing to themselves for no apparent reason; the filthy streets, filled with rotting sewage and garbage that had obviously been tossed out of nearby windows. And everyone watched me—like hawks, they watched me—glaring at me with hungry, suspicious eyes. They made it very clear that I was a stranger here, and I did not belong.

"Hey you, girl!" A woman suddenly shouted. I turned to face her, and almost gasped when I saw she was only in her thirties and already missing a good number of her teeth. "Where you from, and why're you here?"

"I'm sorry," I started to apologize, "I was just passing through here and I wanted to see—"

The woman glared at me. "You ain't from 'round here, girly. I know your talk; you sound like them Collectors who came each month lookin' for their tax money. They took my girl Ivy, took her and put her in the 'Works when I couldn't pay their tax!"

"I-I'm sorry?"

Before I could even react the woman grabbed me by the shirt and yanked me up towards her ugly, weathered face. "You're a spy, ain't you girly? They done send you to check on us, make sure we're paying our tax money right!" She threw me to the ground and screamed, "Hey! I found me a Westie here! I reckon she came here to spy on us, to tell the Collectors we don't pay them enough tax money, so they can take our kiddies for pay and cut our rations!"

As she was saying these things, a literal mob was forming in the square, all of them about ready to beat the living daylights out of me. By the time I was on my feet again, it was too late for me to run away or tear my wings out and fly—I was surrounded by angry, suspicious townspeople who wanted to rip me to shreds.

Out of nowhere, however, came a squat, ugly old woman, who apparently had fought her way to the middle of the crowd with the large two-by-four she held in her right hand. "Listen here!" The woman bellowed, "I reckon since Lilly here found the girl, I'll take Westie here to the club and call her debt to me square!"

"Who says I wanna do that?" Lilly, the lady who'd ratted me out, griped.

"You says so, unless you want me to stop loaning you money so you can keep your boy Timmy out of the Citadel," the old woman replied snippily, smirking as Lily scowled but remained silent. Then she pulled my hands behind my back and slapped something like handcuffs on my wrists, which after a moment I realized were nothing short of shackles. I tried to put up a fight, kicking out with my legs, but I was quickly subdued by a group of ape-armed serfs. "Take her to the club," the old woman instructed them, "and make sure this girly's chained up well and good. I'll keep her in the back for now, make good use of this little spy when happy hour comes around." That last comment resulted in the entire crowd bursting into cackling fits, as if the woman had said something utterly hilarious. Maybe, in the primitive opinion of these people, she had.

* * *

When I got to 'the club', now shackled hand and foot, I could smell the strong stench of alcohol as soon as I got within a few meters of the place. It was an industrial building, a workshop or something, that had obviously been converted into some sort of a tavern. It was mostly empty when they brought me through the front door, with only a few simpering drunks passed out on the plywood tables, but I had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't stay that way for much longer. I made note, also, of the long stretch of wall at the side of the building that was empty except for some sort of metal frame that had been welded onto it and the mess of blankets and bed sheets that lay on the floor. _Strange_, I thought to myself.

However, I had little time to mull over the mysterious workings of this savage bar, because I was quickly whisked out of the front area into a back room of some sort, which was dark and full of other girls my age. They took my coat and backpack away from me and then literally threw me into the room. The door slammed shut behind me, plunging me into darkness. I heard a key turn and a bolt click, indicating that I had been locked in here with these other girls.

There was silence for a little while, as the footsteps and laughs coming from the other side of the door faded away. But once they did, a chattering whisper filled the room, all of them seemingly talking about me. I was still able to see fairly well, thanks to my better-than-average vision, and I found an empty spot by the wall and sat down, leaning against the battered old drywall and analyzing my new roommates. All of them looked underfed, and they wore nothing short of rags. They were all chained like I was, and all of them looked scared, bitter, and hopeless.

"You should have kept away, girly," the girl sitting on my right told me. She looked to be a few years older than me, maybe in her late teens, early twenties. "This town don't take friendly to strangers. More people mean more taxes to pay."

"I'm sorry," I tried to explain to her, "I didn't mean to cause any trouble, I was just passing through."

"Too late now," she told me, shaking her head scornfully, "Alma's going to have her way with you now. Or least her customers are gonna."

Despite my naturally collected disposition, my eyes widened. "You don't mean…"

The girl smiled cynically at me. "If you're lucky, Alma'll up you to a waitress in a few years, let you serve and mingle a little. Least you only hafta go with the men part of the time then. But she'll only do that when Alma gots you broken, and she know you ain't gonna try running or telling her out to the Collectors. Either that or she'll just turn you in as a tax evader'n collect the reward cash."

I felt panic rising up my chest, now feeling doubly vulnerable in these shackles. "Please, no," I practically pleaded, even though I knew she could do nothing, "I promise, I'm not a spy, or a Westie, or whatever—I'm from the other side of the Barrier, I was just trying to pass through town!"

The girl's expression changed from a bitter one to a knowing one, and she looked at me sadly. "Yeah, that's what I tried telling them," she replied in a flawless British accent, "before they killed my dad and put me to work here."

"You mean…"

She nodded. "But," she told me, resuming her local drawl, "that ain't got a pertinence to now. You're stuck here, girly, and the only way you'll get out of here is in a transporter truck or dead. And from what I done heard," she whispered, "you'd rather be a dedder than in the Brainworks."

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just kept quiet. I was vaguely aware of time passing, but mostly I was caught up in my own fear and regret. _It was stupid of you to come here,_ I chastised myself, _you shouldn't have risked your life on a whim and gotten yourself into this mess. Now look at yourself; you're alone, chained, and looking at a long—or short—life of prostitution ahead of you. You gave up a great life, a best friend, and a loving family for _this.

Eventually I heard the noise of rowdy men entering the tavern at the front, laughing and hollering like they were ready to have a good time. Not long after that, an angry-looking woman in her twenties came in and shackled us all together in a long line, like a chain gang. "Get ready girlies," she told us with condescending sneer, "time for you to get on out there and do your thing."

I tried my best to look brave as we were led out of the dark room into the tavern, not daring to look at the crowd of men that was at the tables in case one of them tried to make eye contact. "Don't look so feisty," warned the same girl who had talked to me earlier, the one who was apparently British, "they like a good struggle. Just go limp, don't make eye contact, let 'em have their way."

"I-I'll keep that in mind," I said quietly, trying not to throw up or cry. The woman in charge of us led us over to the wall with the frame and the bed sheets—_so that's what they're for_—fastening each of us to the frame with a long length of chain before removing the fetter she had used to lead us out here.

"Have fun, ladies," the woman spat, turning and leaving. With a sinking feeling growing in the pit of my stomach, I wondered if that woman—a waitress, obviously—was going to be me in a few years.

For a few minutes we just stood there, watching as the men enjoyed their drinks and eyed us predatorily. _You are all sick,_ I screamed at them in my head, _that you would steal the innocence and self-esteem of an unwilling girl for your own drunken satisfaction! _On the outside I tried to stay stoic, so as not to draw attention to myself. For all the good that would do, after the big commotion in town today—I would probably be the main attraction, like a brand new car that everyone wants to take for a test ride.

This is so stupid, I thought to myself; I'm trained in self-defense. I have super-human strength. I even have flippin' wings, for crying out loud! And now I'm chained here like a slave girl, defenseless, with my hands and feet bound together so I can't even move. Well, my feet weren't _too_ chained together, I mused sullenly, there was a long enough chain between them that my legs could still—

"Hey you, girly!" A frumpy middle-aged man screamed at me from across the room, marching towards me in his grubby-looking shirt and his too-tight jeans. _Great,_ I thought sarcastically,_ my first customer. _"I hear you's a Westie spy," he said, taking a step towards me. I looked desperately to my advisor, who was chained up next to me, but she diverted her eyes.

"I'm not a spy," I insisted, calmly but firmly.

The man moved in closer, towering over me domineeringly. "Aw, but I like spies," he told me in a low, predatory voice, "it's like in them old James Bond movies they used to play. You ever seen a movie, girl?"

"Yes." I was trying to remain calm, trying to keep myself from trying to take a swing at this guy even though my hands were chained behind my back. _Fire and ice, _I thought to myself, _try to be ice._ But I found the fire inside of me growing hotter and angrier the longer I had to be near this pervert.

Suddenly I found myself pressed against the wall, the metal frame digging into my back and Mr. Neanderthal apparently trying to flatten me with his beer belly. "You're so skinny, girly," he told me, a sick hunger in his eyes, "Don't your daddy feed you?" He grinned suggestively. "Maybe you need a new daddy."

Finally my resolve snapped, and I retorted, "No thanks, I can feed myself. That's why got a part-time job here—all the fast-food positions in town were taken."

The man grinned a sickly yellow smile. "A feisty one, huh? I can work with that." He grabbed me by the arms and leaned forward to kiss me, but I turned my head away and thrashed wildly, forcing him to drop me onto the floor. I didn't care what the girl told me about not putting up a struggle, I knew I wasn't going down without a fight.

"Oh, you're not getting away that easy," he laughed, reaching down with both hands and tearing open my shirt.


	7. Leaving Digby

**7 – Leaving Digby**

As quickly as the pervert had moved in on me he backed off, his eyes as wide as dinner plates. "Almaaaaa!" He howled, "What kind of [insert long chain of derogatory adjectives] freak do you have chained up here!"

By now pretty much everyone in the tavern was gathering around to look at me, their eyes filled with horror and disbelief. It didn't take a genius to figure out why they were staring at me, or more specifically, my back—when Mr. Frisky over there had ripped the seam of my shirt, he exposed my right wing for all to see. I looked over to the side, and saw that even my advisor, the British girl, was giving me a look of fear and amazement.

"Ever hear of Maximum Ride?" I asked her sheepishly.

Eventually Alma, once again wielding her two-by-four plank, fought her way to the front of the crowd and called out, "Alright, alright! Show's over!"

"What're you gonna do with her?" Someone called from the back of the crowd, followed by a chorus of agreeing 'yeah!'s from throughout the room.

"What else?" Alma replied, "I'll keep her locked up in the back until them Collectors arrive—I reckon they'll be here tomorrow, or the day next. " She grinned and said, "With the reward we'll git for catching one of these little buggers in one piece, I bet we'll have enough to go a couple months without them taking one of our kids for the 'Works, and maybe have a few drinks while we're at it!"

The crowd cheered, obviously pleased with this prospect, and without further adieu I was un-tethered from the wall and returned to the back, this time being put by myself in a small closet with a metal door and chained to an overhead pipe. It was painful, standing with my arms up in the air all night, but no doubt it was less painful than what was happening to the other girls in the tavern while I was safe in here. I thought of the girl who had given me all the advice, trying to help me adapt to the hell of a life she thought I was going to share with the rest of them. We were so alike—about the same age, from the same country—and yet I was spared and she wasn't, just because I was what that pervert called me: a freak. It didn't seem fair.

_I swear,_ I promised myself, _if I ever get free I'm going to come back and free these girls, and then I'm going to rip the intestines out of every lowlife man who ever laid a hand on them._

* * *

I obviously didn't get much sleep that night—it's kind of hard to when you're forced to stand up all night long, practically hanging by your arms—but I dozed off just enough to be rudely awakened early in the morning by the angry-looking waitress who had chained up me and the other girls the night before. "Wake up, you no-good freak," she snarled at me, "the Collectors done come here and we told them 'bout _you_." She grinned cruelly, "I reckon they're mighty excited to see you."

She unchained me from the pipe and re-cuffed my hands behind my back, leading me out of the tavern and over to a group of men who were waiting next to a large vehicle that looked a lot like a UPS truck, except that it was larger and painted black. It had a logo reading 'UNAE' painted on the side in big, white letters.

What was especially strange though was the men themselves—they were all identical to each other. Literally. Same stern face, same short, dark hair, same black uniform. The only difference was that a few of them were wearing helmets, which made them vaguely resemble a regime of Storm Troopers from Star Wars. _Were these the clones that attacked my parents?_ I wondered.

"Here she is," the waitress announced, "now how many months of taxes will she pay for?"

One of the clones noticed my right wing sticking out of the rip in my shirt and yanked it out roughly, inspecting the merchandise. It hurt, but I didn't make a sound. "Your village will be exempt from paying taxes for four months," the clone declared after examining me.

"Only four?"

"Unless you'd prefer we take a full survey of your entire town in order to determine what the appropriate exemption ought to be," the clone eyed the tavern suspiciously. "And I do mean your _entire_ town."

"Fine," the woman relented angrily, releasing her grip on my arm and shoving me towards the men, "I hope you Collectors deal with her good and proper." Then she stormed away, leaving me with these strange clones.

"Get in," one of the masked clones—Collectors, they were apparently called—commanded me, opening the tiny hatch that served as a door into the back of their truck. I glared at him through his helmet visor, but I did as he said and got in. If my suspicions were correct, and these were the sort of men that had gone after Max and Fang all those years ago, I didn't stand a chance against them. Besides, my shirt still covered enough of my back to hide my leather pouch. Maybe if I didn't kick up a fuss, no one would check me over for hidden objects.

When I was inside the truck—which had a dark interior lit only by a few air holes punched in along the top of the sides—I realized that I wasn't the only one who would be traveling freight. There were already several others in here, all of them cuffed like me with their hands behind their backs and most of them looking as beat-up as I did, if not more. Quickly adjusting my torn shirt to hide my wing from view, I sat down on one of the benches that was welded to the side of the truck and tried not to look out of the ordinary.

"What are you in here for?" asked the woman next to me, who appeared to be in her forties.

"I breached the Barrier," I told her, allowing my British accent to come through and affirm my story. Of course, I didn't tell her that breaching the Barrier wasn't the reason I was being arrested.

"Really? A Barrier crosser?" The woman sounded amazed. "I heard about folks like you, but I always thought those were just stories."

"Why are you here?" I inquired.

The woman shrugged. "Fell behind on my taxes. I figure they'll sentence me to one, maybe two years in the Citadel."

"You don't sound too worried," I commented.

"I got processed once about ten years ago," she told me. "It's a bit overwhelming, yeah, and it's a hard recovery, but as long as you get designated to store and process clean, simple pages like I did, the nightmares fade eventually." But then she added, "Of course, if you're not that lucky, and the Brainworks sends a bunch of ugly, dirty photos or complicated data through your mind, it can really mess you up. It's enough to drive some people crazy."

I shuddered slightly. "What is the Brainworks, exactly, or the Citadel?"

The truck started moving then, and for the next few hours that woman filled me in on how things worked on this side of the Barrier. For starters, there were no separate countries like America, Canada, or Mexico—it was all called the United North American Empire, which is run by an elite group of businessmen called the Supremacy. They live in the West, which is the large sector along the coast that is the best, most expensive place to live and is inhabited by the wealthy and their supporting working class.

It's also the only part of the empire that has access to the Brainworks, which is a reformed version of the internet that uses human brains as processors—its center of operation, the Citadel, is filled with thousands of people stored in gel suspension capsules, their brains being flooded with endless information to store and transmit. If you break the law, you get sent to a processing camp in the West to be sentenced, and then you carry out your sentence in the Citadel for however long they tell you to.

The Collectors are superhuman enforcers controlled by the Supremacy. They're the ones who collect taxes (which are kept high enough to make everyone poor), maintain order (though obviously they didn't to a great job of that in the town of Digby), and capture lawbreakers (like me), as well as transport them to the West for processing. It's not the best job in the world, but hey, the Collectors aren't complaining.

Basically, the important laws came down to this: Pay your taxes on time, or you will be processed. Do not leave your designated sector without permission, or you will be processed. If you try to rebel against the Supremacy, you will be processed. If you are disabled or irreparably ill, you will be processed. **If you are a** **mutant**, you will be processed.

…In case you haven't noticed, the UNAE isn't exactly the greatest place to be, especially if you're me.


	8. Becca's Hell

Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for the reviews. :D Special shout-out to my two dear friends (who will remain unnamed so that one of those friends will not use bashfulness as an excuse not to show their face again) who are reading this story: both of them reviewing for the first time, one of them reading my work for the first time. It took a year of begging, but it worked!

Kudos to everyone else who's read and reviewed without coaxing. You make my insides smiley. *fuzzy feelings* And to everyone else who reads: take time to review the stories you read, even if it's just a few words or pointers. You can make someone's day that much better by saying something nice, and it can take less than a minute of your time! I know I speak for all fanfictioners when I say that reviews are greatly appreciated, even ones that aren't all positive. So do your kind deed for the day and make a writer smile. :)

And now, on with the story! We'll be taking a break from our dear bird girl Lex Hardly, and returning across the pond to her jolly old mate Becca, who's a bit of a nutter if you know what I mean. ;) [/Britishspeak]

* * *

**8 – Becca's Hell**

The morning after Lex's departure had started normally enough. Becca had opened her eyes, stared at the ceiling, and thought, _Oh, Lex is gone now._ She wondered if maybe she ought to cry, or scream, or maybe go to Danny Kingsley's house down the road and break a window. But that wouldn't make her feel better; she didn't feel _anything_ right now. She just felt numb, like her emotions had just shut down. _Why don't I feel anything?_ She wondered. _I want to feel something!_

After she had gotten dressed for the day, sporting one of her many Cutoff-chic t-shirts and a pair of secondhand jeans that had to be at least thirty years old, Becca had wandered into the kitchen looking for something to eat. As usual, the kitchen was empty, her father obviously already at work in his office. He was a consultant with some company or other; marketing, if she recalled correctly. Not that they ever really discussed his work in any great detail. They never discussed anything, really.

Sometimes Becca felt like her dad avoided her, as if she carried a painful memory with her that made him afraid to spend time with her. Maybe she looked too much like her mother, who had been killed in a car crash when Becca was a baby. Not that she had any idea of what her mum looked like, since she'd never seen a picture. Her father hated talking about her mother, and the past, and, really, everything. It wasn't like the blatantly hated her—he had always given her most anything she wanted, trying to make her happy—but if he truly loved her, he was doing a terrible job of showing it.

Becca was sitting down with a bowl of cereal just as the doorbell rang. She stood to answer it, curious as to who it was but at the same time already knowing because of gut instinct.

Sure enough, when she opened the door Mrs. Hardly was standing there, hunched over and crying. She wrung a piece of paper in her hands—it appeared to be covered in Lex's handwriting. "Please," she whimpered between sobs, "tell me it's not true. Tell me she hasn't gone… gone _there_."

Becca felt paralyzed, unsure how to react or what to say. "I'm sorry," was all she could manage, lowering her head slightly. "She couldn't be talked out of it. She was determined to go."

Mrs. Hardly's body was racked with violent sobs, her denial broken by Becca's reply. "Why did she do this?" she practically screamed at Becca. She shook her head and tried to wipe her tear-streaked face. "I need to go," she muttered, turning and leaving.

Closing the door, Becca felt her own body shudder and quiver. The way Lex's mum had cried, the way she had talked…it was if Lex was dead to her. Dead to everyone. Maybe she really was dead.

Just then her dad walked into the room, a confused look crossing his face. "What's wrong?" he asked, "Who was at the door?"

"Lex's mum," Becca replied, "It's Lex… she's gone." And then Becca felt it—the hurt, the anger, the confusion—and she felt tears well up in her eyes and slip down her face. She ran to her dad, throwing herself into his arms and sobbing violently.

Her father hugged her back, but there was something stiff about his embrace, as if he too was stunned by this news. "I'm sorry, Rebecca, I'm so sorry," was all he said, holding her tightly.

Six days. It had been six days since Lex left for the Cutoff zone.

Six days since Becca descended into hell.

Since that first morning, Becca had hardly left her room. Barely eating, barely sleeping, all she could do was stare out the window and cry. And draw. She drew a lot. Normally Becca only drew a few vision-oriented sketches each week, usually after having one of her dreams. But now that Lex was gone and the pain was raw, Becca had been drawing as many as ten pictures in one day. Her pencils were worn out, and her hand was cramping, but she couldn't stop. She had to draw. It was her obsession, her compulsion.

For as long as she could hold a pencil Becca had been drawing. When she was old enough her dad signed her up for art lessons, and over the years she had added to her own knowledge through educational videos and books, honing and improving her skill. It wasn't so much because she liked art—though Becca did enjoy it the times she just sat down and drew what she wanted—as much as she needed it. Without her art, her brain would overload on visions and dreams and drive her insane—literally.

Once when she was twelve, she had broken all her pencils, thrown her drawing paper out the window, and kept herself locked in her bathroom, trying to give up drawing for good. By the third day, she was convulsing on the floor, and Lex had to break the door down and force a pencil into her hand. Another time when she was fourteen Becca checked herself into a psychiatric hospital, hoping that someone could help her understand why she had these visions and make them stop. Her dad found her three weeks later; she had been strapped down to her hospital bed and put on anti-psychotic drugs because she had become violent and delusional.

After a while, Becca learned to just accept the fact that she was always going to be mentally ill. That's what she viewed it as: a mental illness. But as long as she kept drawing, as long as she kept unleashing these thoughts and flashbacks from her head, she was able to live a reasonably normal life. Meeting Lex had made her life even better; she had made her life, dare she say it, _happy_. Not only did Lex bring some sort of sense to her visions, she kept her sane in so many other ways. She really loved Lex, and Lex really loved her—not in a creepy way, but in a way that said, "I don't care about your quirks, and you don't care about mine. I'll always be there for you, and I'm always going to have your back."

But now Lex was gone, and Becca was calling her mental stability into question yet again.

Now that it had been six days since Lex's departure (again, Becca thought, it sounds like she's dead), not even Becca's grief could keep her holed up anymore. She was bored—really bored! Even more bored than the time Lex and her family had been gone on vacation for three weeks and she broke into Danny Kingsley's house and tee-peed his room—she _really_ hated that boy. That was another one of her quirks: Becca always needed something mischievous to keep her mind engaged, to get her adrenaline pumping. Lex had always kept her from doing her craziest stunts (excepting the riot, and the time she'd jumped off a cliff just to see how Lex felt every time she did it during takeoff), but now that she wasn't here, Becca was a little afraid she wouldn't be able to stop herself.

_I know, s_he decided, _I'll go see a movie, one with lots of explosions and car chases._ Movies were always a good distraction—it let someone else get into trouble for a change, onscreen.

Becca ran downstairs to her dad's office to ask him for money to go to the movies. She'd probably have to spend a few minutes convincing him she was actually going to where she said she was and not running off to do something stupid, but he'd relent. He always gave her everything she asked for—except skydiving lessons and a pet monkey. He drew the line at anything that involved extreme sports, exotic pets, or breaking the law.

When Becca entered her father's office, she was surprised to find that he was not there. He must have stepped out to get groceries, she realized. Right about then Becca's mischievous side started crawling up to the surface, and told her, "If he's not here, there's no reason why you can't check his office for spare cash." And Becca was prone to agree. She began opening drawers and looking through her dad's stuff, hoping to find some money. Most of the drawers were locked, but she did find some interesting things in the ones that weren't—family photos, souvenirs, an old notebook…

_Wait, notebook?_ A notebook meant paper. Paper meant words. Words meant there could be something interesting in there. Quickly Becca began flipping through the pages, and frowned. The notebook was in her dad's writing, but what on earth did it say? It was in English, but it was full of big, complicated words and jargon she didn't understand. She saw a few words she recognized: _genetic, DNA, amniocentesis, gametes, zygote…_ It appeared to be something about genetic engineering, or something along those lines. But what would an advertising consultant need with a set of notes on genetics?

"Becca!" her father suddenly spoke. Becca jumped, dropping the notebook.

"Dad!" she replied with a start, "Sorry, I know I'm not supposed to be in here, but I was looking for you and—"

"I went to the store to buy some things."

"—I was just wondering if I could have some money to go to the movies."

Her father looked at her expression carefully. "Are you saying that just because you want an excuse to get out of the house and do something you shouldn't, or are you actually going to the movies?"

Becca exhaled; her dad wasn't going to lecture her for snooping. "I'm just going to go see a movie, I swear."

"Alright then," he reached into his pocket and handed Becca a small wad of bank notes. "Just don't be out too late." Becca nodded and went past him in the doorway, heading for the front door. Before she could leave though, her dad called out, "Becca? One more thing."

"What?" she turned and asked.

"How have your dreams been, and your drawings? Are they any better?"

Becca sighed. "They're terrible," she admitted. "I've been having more and more dreams and visions than ever. The dreams are still coming every night."

Her father nodded thoughtfully. "Well, don't worry too much about it. I'm sure they'll diminish over time." Then he went back into his office and closed the door behind him.

At the movies Becca tried her best to focus on the film, but something was gnawing at her mind now, something about the way her dad had acted back at home, when he caught her in his office. Her father was not a nervous man, but when he'd found her there, reading that notebook, he had looked anxious. It was as if he was worried she'd discover something she shouldn't he didn't want her to know. And it wasn't just today, Becca realized. Since Lex's departure he'd been on edge, watching her more closely and asking questions about her drawings. Maybe he thought that Lex's leaving might put her over the edge permanently.

The scariest part, Becca thought, is that he may actually be right.

When she got home from the cinema Becca felt muddled from all the flashing movie lights and the questions going around in her head. She had just stretched out on her bed to take a nap when it hit—a flash, an image, the slight stirring in her chest. Becca groaned, and then got up and grabbed her pencil. She'd had another vision. And just when she thought she might actually get a day off.

As Becca started drawing the image, though, she became curious. The first thing she drew was the tip of some sort of spherical object that was lying on top of a surgical table—the top of someone's head, she guessed, as she drew what seemed to be wavy hair (goldish-brown, if she had to guess) onto the object. There was someone else in the picture too, someone wearing a white lab coat. Scientists weren't too unusual for Becca to draw—they often appeared in visions, though almost always their faces were obscured. As she drew this scientist, though, Becca was able to call up subtle details from the back of her mind, forming a familiar face in an unfamiliar context. _This doesn't make sense, _Becca thought to herself as she added the final touches.

When she was done, Becca leaned back and examined the picture as a whole. It was in some sort of lab, she decided, judging by the shelves of medical supplies in the background and the wires that ran along the floor. It was the strangest thing: there was a scientist, who looked to be in his forties or fifties perhaps, standing in front of the object on the table, the one she assumed to be a head. He was reaching towards a different part of the head, perhaps the face, but his hands weren't on the page so he couldn't see what he was doing. His lab coat was unbuttoned and hung loosely, so Becca could see the man's name tag clearly: _Jeb Batchelder_.

The strangest thing of all, though, was the scientist's face: he looked just like her father, only younger.


	9. Do I Know You?

Yay, update day! I love updating; it makes me feel all warm and smiley on the inside, yet sick and sinister at the same time. :P Know what I mean? And thank you to all my reviewers. Someday I'll post all your names at the top of a chapter and shower you with virtual cookies, but right now let's focus on the story.

Hmmm… things take an interesting turn in this next chapter. Very interesting indeed. *thoughtful*

* * *

**9 – Do I Know You?**

I spent three days in that dumb truck. Do you know how awful it is to be crammed in the back of a dark, stuffy transporter with twenty other people? Very! There were already at least five or six prisoners in there when they threw me in, but as the Collectors made several more stops to small towns to collect taxes and prisoners, the back of the transporter got more and more crowded—and smelly. They didn't even let us out for food or bathroom breaks; they just tossed in food packets a couple of times a day. There was a squarish-shaped toilet thing in the front left corner of the prisoner compartment, but it obviously hadn't been cleaned in a long time, if ever. Not to mention you had no privacy.

"How much longer do we have to stay in this box?" I lamented, getting more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

Terri, the woman who had filled me in on everything when I first got put in the transporter, replied, "At least a few more days, I'd think. We _are_ driving to the other side of the empire, after all, and the Collectors keep stopping to pick up more people."

"Great…" I moaned. The future was not looking promising.

I was contemplating standing up and letting someone else sit on the bench for a while (my butt was falling asleep) when I heard a noise, a muffled metallic thump. I paused, and looked around. No one else seemed to have heard it, not over the noise bumpy road trying to swallow the transporter into a pothole. Since my hearing was more finely tuned than most peoples', I listened carefully in case I heard something else. Sure enough, the thumping continued, a steady dented banging coming from the roof of the transporter. It sounded like… _it sounded like someone was crawling on top of the vehicle!_

No sooner than I'd thought that did the transporter suddenly jerk to the left, nearly throwing me off the bench. A few people screamed and yelped, but I tried to remain calm and keep aware in case anything else happened. The truck veered left again, then right, then left, and then suddenly I was thrown forward off of the bench as the transporter hit the ditch, crashing onto its side. I braced myself to hit metal, but fortunately (for me, anyways) my fall was cushioned by the pile of people that had formed on the side—now bottom—of the transporter.

"What was that?" Terri asked, groaning slightly.

Slowly I stood up and steadied myself, still slightly dazed from the crash. "I don't know… is anyone hurt?"

Before anyone could reply someone outside threw open the exit hatch and started screaming, "Go! If you can move, get going now!" There was an immediate response as everyone tried to flood the tiny exit. I stayed at the back, waiting for the crowd to clear. No use breaking a bone in the frenzy.

When everyone else had fled the transporter, I crawled carefully through the opening (which is hard to do when you're wearing handcuffs) and looked around outside. The truck had crashed alongside a country road, next to a farmer's field. It was chilly out here, I realized, as my breath clouded up in front of me. Everyone had already scattered, and even now I could see them running down the road and across the fields into the woods, trying to get as far away from here as possible. Near the front of the truck, however, I could hear someone moving and talking.

"…too long to carry the safe. We'll have to leave it," a female voice said, sounding eager to leave.

A male voice responded, "You don't really think we'll be able to find the mutant now, do you? You saw everyone scatter. I say we take the safe and supplies and get out of here."

_The mutant? Were they looking for me?_ Slowly I peeked up over the edge of the fallen transporter. There were two figures, one male and female, dressed in black and wearing ski masks. The guy was down inside the open cab, apparently assessing the plunder, while the girl stood at the edge of the door and looked down at him impatiently. I guess these are my rescuers, I thought to myself. Judging by their voices and stature, they were probably close to my age.

Just then I thought I saw a flicker of movement coming from beside the transporter, right below the ledge where the masked girl was standing. I lowered my head and then moved over to the other side, looking to see what was over there that could have moved. I nearly gasped. There were three Collectors sprawled on the ground, all of them cut up and bleeding. Had the crash done this to them, I wondered, or the two masked figures? Though at least these guys had actually been able to crawl out of the wreckage—there must have been another two or three still inside the cab.

Finally I realized what had caught my eye: one of the Collectors, the one lying closest to the cab door, was seriously wounded but still conscious. He had a knife in his hand, and every few seconds he collected his strength enough to take a swipe at the girl's ankles, which were bare millimeters away from the blade's reach. Just as I was about to intervene, the Collector's knife found its mark and swiped the girl on the heels, causing her to lose her balance and cry out. I saw him position his knife as the girl fell towards him, ready to impale her upon impact. _He's going to kill her!_

Immediately I dove into action and pushed the girl out of the way, causing her to fall on top of the Collector's head instead of his torso, and at the same time I brought my heel down on his hand, forcing him to release the knife. I grabbed the knife and backed away from the Collector and the girl, just as the guy in the cab looked up to see what was happening.

"Nina?" he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," the girl panted, standing up slowly, "that stupid Westin' Collector took a swipe at my ankles. I think I broke his neck when I landed on him, though." Just then the girl, Nina, looked in my direction. "This girl stopped me from taking a dive onto his knife."

"Who?" Just then the guy took notice of me, and stopped rummaging around in the cab.

"Hi," I said, sounding oddly casual. "Thanks for busting me out of there."

"Thanks for saving my life," Nina replied, taking a step closer to me. I gripped the Collector's knife tightly in my hand, but I allowed her to approach. After all, we'd just traded pretty big favors—I seriously doubted she wanted to kill me. "You look familiar," she declared in puzzlement, looking closely at my face.

"I do?" I asked.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

"I don't know," I replied, "I can't see what you look like."

"Oh, right."

Nina was about to take her mask off when the guy called out, "No, don't! You don't know if you can trust her."

"Just gel, Hunt," Nina replied, "if the girl wanted me dead or arrested she would have let the Collector finish me off. Besides, any prisoner of the Supremacy is a friend of mine." Then she took her mask off, and I quietly gasped. This girl looked freakishly like my mum—my birth mum, Maximum Ride. I mean, her wavy hair was several shades darker than the blondish-brown hair Max had, and her skin was a bit darker, but the resemblance was undeniable. She was a younger, semi-Hispanic version of Max.

"So," Nina asked, "do you recognize me?"

"I-I do, but…" I tried to keep a straight face despite my confusion. "Why do you look like Maximum Ride?"

There was a spark of identification in Nina's eyes. "You know Max?" she questioned.

"Something like that."

Finally Nina's male accomplice, Hunt, got tired of this exchange and walked over to us. "Nina," he cautioned, "this is a big mistake. This girl could get caught and sell us out to the Collectors!"

"Hunt," Nina half-whispered, even though I could obviously hear her, "she says she knows Max. And just look at her! Doesn't she _remind_ _you_ of anyone?"

I could see Hunt's eyes narrow behind his mask as he got a good look at me. After a moment they widened, as if noticing something significant, and then he turned to Nina. "You can't be thinking what I think you're thinking. There's no possible way…"

"They've been gone for what, sixteen years?" Nina pointed out, "And she looks just like them!"

"Who?" I asked, "Who do I look like?" Suddenly I couldn't take the suspense anymore; I had to know what they were talking about. I reached my cuffed hands behind my back and finished ripping out the seams of my shirt, allowing my wings to shoot out behind me. Nina and Hunt's eyes lit up with amazement when they saw them.

Their eyes dazzled even more when I told them, "Please, my name is Lex Hardly, and Maximum Ride and Fang are my birth parents. I came here to look for them."

Nina looked to Hunt and gave him an I-told-you-so look. "Well, now what do you think?"

"Incredible." Hunt shook his masked head, unsure what else to say.

"Well then, Lex Hardly," Nina said to me, "it's nice to meet you. My name is Nina Griffiths, and I do believe that you are my cousin." Then she reached behind her back, unzipped something, and unfurled a pair of wings of her own.

* * *

See? Plot twist! And man, does Nina know how to make an introduction. Hunt needs to work on his people skills, though. *tsk-tsk*

So what do you think of all this? I mean, I know what I think, since I wrote it and all, but how does this impact you, the reader? Do you want to gasp, scream, shred me to pieces, etc? What do you like/dislike about this story so far? What do you think is going to happen? I'm all ears (er...eyes), so be sure to tell me what you think! :D I love hearing what you guys have to say.


	10. Family Reunion

Aaaand this is the chapter where we get to meet Nina's family! I'm sure you all must be very curious. Be warned, though: this family is not all it appears to be at first glance. ;)

* * *

**10 – Family Reunion**

I followed Hunt and Nina as they dodged expertly through the woods, leaving me struggling to keep up. "I still can't believe you're actually Maximum Ride's daughter!" Nina exclaimed as we treaded through the bush, "I mean, your mom is my mom's hero, and my parents talk about her all the time! And your dad sounds pretty intense too—"

"—Nina," Hunt cut her off, "We can talk about this once we get to the farm."

"Sorry," Nina apologized to me, "I'm just really excited."

"I don't blame you," I told her as I struggled to get over a fallen tree, "this is pretty big news for me too."

When we arrived at the farm—which in reality looked more like a fenced-off shack in the middle of the woods—Nina pulled out her key to the gate and unlocked it. "It's to keep looters out," she explained when she saw me eying the chain link fence and the barbed wire. "It surrounds the farmhouse, the barn, and a part of the woods. Lots of room for hiding and playing."

As we approached the farmhouse, I couldn't help wonder how structurally sound it was. It was painted pale blue and stood about three stories, but in this case bigger wasn't looking better. The wood appeared worn and brittle, like an oversized art project made of balsa wood I could punch my fist through. Still, the door didn't cave in when Hunt knocked several times and called, "Ella, it's us! And we brought a visitor!"

I saw a face dart in and out of a window in the corner of my eye, and after a few seconds a woman opened the door. "Come in quickly," she said quietly, "they found the transporter a couple minutes ago, and they'll be searching for escaped prisoners." We shuffled inside, and I was able to get a closer look at the woman who had let us in. She was in her early thirties, I guessed, and looked Hispanic like Nina, except she didn't appear to be biracial and she had straight hair instead of wavy. She was shorter than me, maybe 5'5, and had a tiny but wiry frame.

"What were you thinking," the woman chastised Nina and Hunt, "taking down a transporter so close to the farm?"

"Sorry," Nina and Hunt mumbled like two guilty children.

"But we intercepted their signal on the radio and found out they were carrying a mutant," Nina explained, "and so we thought we'd help them out! But we didn't have enough time to set up an ambush further down the road."

"A mutant," Nina's mum turned to me, "and that would be you, I assume?" I nodded. Just then, though, Nina's mum got a closer look at my face. "Nina, Hunt, why does she…?"

"Ella," Hunt interjected, "this is Lex Hardly. She says that Maximum Ride and Fang are her parents."

"Max has a daughter?" The expression on Ella's face changed from one of puzzlement to one of shock, which then turned slightly teary-eyed, which then transformed into excitement and joy. "I-I can't believe this!" she exclaimed, reaching forward and giving me a huge hug. For such a domestic-looking lady, she sure had a lot of strength packed into her. "I mean," she chattered excitedly, "I can see the resemblance, but I just can't believe after all these years… how are they? Your parents, I mean."

"Um, I don't really know," I explained, "That's why I came here, to look for them."

Ella looked slightly deflated by my admission, but she put on a warm face and told me, "Well then, I guess you'll have to have dinner with us tonight and explain everything that's happened." Then she noticed my shirt was practically torn to shreds. "But first, you should get changed. You're about Nina's size, so why don't you go up to her room and find something to wear? Don't worry, all her shirts already have slits cut into them for wings."

And that's exactly what we did. Clothes in the UNAE weren't much different from the clothes I was used to from back home; they were just more heavy-duty and bland, like they were built for using and not for looking good. Not that I was especially worried about that. After what I'd been through in the last week, fashion was definitely on the backburner.

Still, I did ask Nina, "This probably sounds stupid, but is there anything I should know about wearing your clothes? Any specific style to wear them in, or anything like that?"

"Dress warm," Nina replied with a smile, "it's winter, and around here that's the only style that matters."

A few minutes later, Nina and I were sitting with Hunt at the dinner table while Ella was finishing preparing dinner. For the first time since he removed his mask in the forest, I got a good look at Hunt: his hair was dark brown and wavy, cut short enough so as not to be a nuisance, and his eyes were a matching shade. He was about 5'10, muscular, and was a little over-cautious about everything, if you asked me. The guy seemed so tense and serious all the time, the type to play things by the rules—an apparent opposite of Nina. As far as I knew he didn't have wings, and I had already guessed that he wasn't a biological member of this family—he had called Nina's mum Ella, and he looked nothing like either Nina or Ella. That left me wondering: who, exactly, was he?

Just then the echoing laughter of children fill the hallway, getting louder and louder until a small crowd of winged munchkins stormed into the dining room like a whirlwind—I counted three of them, two girls and a boy—and settling at the table in a cloud of happy chatter. Nina introduced her siblings to me: Maria, who was born when Nina was five, was nine years old; Maxwell, called Wells for short, was seven and named after his aunt; and Blaze, who their dad got to name because "Ella named the first three", and was the 'trophy white girl' of the family because against all odds she was apparently the spitting image of her dad, down to the reddish-blonde hair and blue eyes.

"In case you haven't noticed," Ella spoke up as she came in with the littlest Griffiths child, one-year-old Jason, who also seemed to have missed a lot of the Hispanic genes, "this family has a tendency of defying the laws of genetics—though I suppose you'd know that from personal experience."

"I guess it keeps you guessing as each little one comes along," I joked, "You never know what they're going to look like."

From down the hall I could hear the front door opening, and two sets of footsteps entered the house. A couple more people were joining us for dinner, apparently. "Ella!" A male voice called, "we're home!" The children cheered and squirmed happily in their seats.

"It's about time," Ella remarked, calling down the hall, "I hope he didn't keep you waiting too long, Mom."

A matronly older woman bearing a noticeable resemblance to Ella entered the dining room. "I swear, bringing that man to market is like taking a kid to a candy store," she remarked, sitting at the table. Then she spotted me. "Who do we have here?" she asked Ella.

"We'll get to introductions in a sec," Ella said, putting Jason down in his high chair. "Iggy!" She called impatiently, "Hurry up in there!"

"I'm trying," Iggy, now in the kitchen, grumbled, "But your mother made me carry all the bags home and now I'm having trouble moving my arms to put them down."

Ella smiled and rolled her eyes. "You'll manage, I'm sure."

Iggy, an incredibly tall man, at least 6'4 I guessed, sat down across from me at the table. What was more incredible, though, was that I'd seen his face before—he was one of the kids from Becca's drawings, the one she called Strawberry. Now that I could see his strawberry blonde hair for myself, I knew why. First I encounter a long lost cousin who looks like Max, and now a familiar face from Becca's visions? This day was getting more and more surreal by the minute.

"Mom, Iggy, this is Lex," Ella introduced me, "she's directly in front of you Iggy, about Nina's height."

_Odd introduction,_ I thought, as Iggy looked me directly in the eyes and said in a friendly tone of voice, "Ella didn't tell us we were having a guest tonight."

"It was sort of last minute," I explained sheepishly.

"You could say that again," Hunt muttered. Nina elbowed him in the ribcage, signaling him to shut up.

Finally Ella sprung the news to the rest of the family. "Lex is Max's daughter, Mom," she announced quietly, sitting down next to Iggy. "She was in the transporter Hunt and Nina ran off the road earlier."

Ella's mother turned her head to look more closely at me, and Iggy's mouth opened slightly. Even the younger tots went quiet. "Max's daughter?" Ella's mother repeated, looking directly at me.

I gave her a quick nod. "Yes, ma'am."

"Max and Fang."

"That's right."

"Do you know where they are?"

I shook my head. "My birth parents—Max and Fang—were attacked in Seattle, and when Max fled she wound up at the doorway of my dad's clinic. She stayed with him and my mum until she gave birth, and when she disappeared two weeks later she left me with them for safekeeping. They never saw her again."

There was silence as everyone mulled over what I'd just told them.

Finally Ella's mum replied gently but firmly, "Well, my dear, my name is Valencia Martinez, and I am your grandmother. And I think you'd better tell us your entire story." So I did. I explained everything that had happened to me since I left England—breaching the Barrier, getting almost-prostituted in a primitive tavern, being turned in for a reward, and getting run off the road by Hunt and Nina.

Iggy whistled when I had finished talking. "That's incredible," he remarked. Everyone else murmured in agreement.

"Now, if you don't mind," I requested, "may I ask a few things about you guys?"

"Sure," Ella replied with a smile, "ask away."

"Well, I'm still a little confused—how am I related to everyone in this room?"

"Well," she started, "let's see… Valencia is my mother, as well as Max's—we're biological half-sisters—which makes you my niece. I'm married to Iggy—though if anyone asks, his name is James Griffiths—so he's your uncle by marriage. On top of that, though, he and your mom grew up together, so you're practically related to him anyways. Nina, Maria, Wells, Blaze, and Jason are all our kids, which makes them your cousins."

"And as for Hunt," Nina piped up, putting her arm around him affectionately, "we just keep him around because he's so darn good-looking." Everyone around the table laughed except Hunt, who rolled his eyes and half-smiled at Nina. _Is something going on between them?_ I wondered.

"Yes, well, I consider Hunt part of the family," Ella declared, "He's sure been a big help over the years, especially when he's done jobs for us on the farm that Iggy couldn't do because of his blindness."

I was taken aback. "You're blind?" I asked Iggy, surprised I hadn't realized before.

Once again Iggy's eyes focused perfectly on me, as if he could see me plain as day. "When you're in a world where being different will get you arrested," he told me, "you get very good at hiding your abnormalities."

I nodded. "True enough."

Before anyone could say anything else, a faint beeping noise filled the room, causing everyone to stiffen in their chairs. They all stopped eating and focused on something that was on the set of shelves behind me. I turned to see what it was, and was puzzled to see that there was a small plastic reindeer sitting on the top shelf, its red nose a blinking light. I got the impression that this was no ordinary toy, though. "What does that mean?" I asked.

"It's a motion detector," Ella explained, a worried expression on her face, "It means a transporter is coming down the road to the farm. I guess they're starting to ask the local farms about the crash now." _Why would they have a hidden motion detector? _I wondered. I was getting the feeling that this family wasn't as semi-ordinary and domestic as it first appeared.

Before I had a chance to ask questions Ella went into emergency mode, ordering everyone around. "Mom, you rearrange the table so it looks like there's four less people eating—hide the plates, move the chairs, whatever. Iggy, go up to the bedroom and pretend you're taking a nap. Nina, you and Hunt take Lex to the shelter, and don't come out until someone comes and gets you. Maria, go to Nina's room and hide Lex's clothes where they won't be found." Everyone sprang into action, tending to their designated jobs.

I felt Nina grab me by the arm, and she led me to the back of the house. "The shelter's in the woods," she explained, "we can hide there until the Collectors are done asking questions. We don't want them recognizing you, or _us,_ if someone saw us looting the truck." She took me through the back door and we ran together into the forest, with Hunt following close behind us.

We didn't stop until we reached a small clearing in the woods, where there was a row of wooden crosses. There were three of them, and even though it was getting dark I could make out the names 'Total', 'Akila', and 'Dylan' etched onto them. A graveyard of some sort? However, before I could ask questions Nina ran over to the crosses and began twisting the horizontal boards of the crosses, making them parallel with the vertical boards. "What are you doing?" I asked, but she ignored me. Then, once the crosses were all un-crossed, she twisted the middle cross so that it was the right shape again. There was a click, and the other two crosses corrected themselves automatically. _That's a bit weird._

Nina and Hunt started running again, and I followed after them. "The crosses unlock the bunker," Nina panted as she ran alongside me, "don't worry, they're just memorials." I wasn't quite sure what she meant when she mentioned the bunker, but I just decided to go with it.

Finally we reached an uneven section of ground in the forest—it almost looked like a miniature cliff. In the face of the 'cliff' was a small opening, like a foxhole. We stopped, and then Nina lowered herself feet first into the opening. I hesitated momentarily, but then Hunt urged, "Don't stand there, get in!" and so I got down and lowered myself after her. Hunt followed behind me, and once we were all in the dark someone slid a piece of plywood over the opening, blocking out any light we had.

"Hang on!" Nina called. A light bulb flicked on overhead, illuminating the tiny shelter. It was pretty rough, I had to say. The walls were about six feet tall and made of really rough concrete reinforced by two-by-four beams, and there was nothing in there but a couple crates of canned goods and a large fuse box on the back wall.

"This is… nice," I remarked, eying the set-up warily.

Hunt snorted. "Hardly," he scoffed. It took me a second to realize he was saying the word and not my name. "This isn't where we're hiding—this is just a front. If Collectors found _this_, we'd just get a hefty fine for hoarding food and building without approval from the Supremacy's department of construction."

"This," Nina continued, opening the fuse box, "is where we're hiding." She reached in and pushed on the back of the fuse box, which gave way easily. The light bulb in the shelter went out, replaced by a beam of fluorescent light which shone out through the fuse box opening. _There's another room behind this wall,_ I realized. Hunt shoved one of the crates underneath the opening to use as a step up, and then we crawled through onto a raised platform on the other side. What was the back of a fuse box on one side, I realized, was a thick steel hatch on the other.

"Welcome to the bunker," Nina announced, gesturing to our surroundings. "Too bad you arrived during off season; if you were here during planting or harvest time, this place would be packed." I had to say, I was impressed by what I saw. Not only were the walls much better built, but there must have been at least two dozen computers in the room, all of them set up and ready to be used.

"Why…?" I trailed off.

"I guess we never got to tell you about our family business, did we?" Nina smiled mysteriously. She wouldn't tell me anything else after that, insisting that we wait for her parents to explain it. So we sat down at the desks and waited for someone to come get us.

Somehow I ended up sitting next to Hunt. "So," I said, glancing offhandedly at the computer I was sitting in front of, "do any of these computers have solitaire on them?" He gave me a strange look, and then he shook his head. "Oh well," I replied, frowning slightly. I guess he wasn't the type to engage in small talk.

After that, I just talked to Nina, who was more than happy to fill me in on the Flock and their history. I had to say, I was impressed. The only Flock members I knew anything about Max and Fang, but from the sounds of it the rest of the Flock had done some pretty impressive things too. "My dad was a pyromaniac as a kid," Nina bragged, "always blowing the bad guys up and causing trouble. Kind of explains how Blaze got her name, huh?"

I smiled. "Kind of."

Finally Iggy came to the bunker and told us it was safe to come out now. "They've recaptured some of the prisoners," he updated us, "but all of them were too busy running to see anything incriminating. I don't think even the Collectors you clobbered are even sure what hit them." He grinned, clearly impressed with their accomplishment. Nina and Hunt smiled proudly at each other.

"So," I finally spoke, still feeling very in the dark, "anyone care to tell me why I'm sitting in the middle of an underground computer room?"

"Dad?" Nina looked to her father to explain.

Iggy grinned impishly. "Lex, how would you feel if I was to tell you that you were sitting in the headquarters of the empire's largest anti-Supremacy organization?"


	11. The Family Business

AHHHH! Good day today! :D Not only did I get to go to a football game (it was insanely close, but our team won!), but I totally found a perfectly good Bic pen in the bleachers. B) I call it my pen of mystery—my dad calls it a pen of germs. *shrugs* But whatever. It's good for the immune system, or something like that. It's not like I'm going to chew on it… I think. :/

And now we find out the truth about the charming Martinez-Griffiths family. :) Ah yes, nothing like finding out your family is stranger and more secretive than you are. We're also going to hear from the rest of the Flock, as well as shed some (very dim) light as to Fang's whereabouts. Enjoy. ;)

* * *

**11 – The Family Business**

…And my day just keeps getting weirder and weirder. Not only have I been rescued from the Collectors' clutches and reunited with my long lost relatives, but it turns out that said long lost relatives are underground resistance leaders! Bet none of _your_ cousins are underground resistance leaders.

Once the coast was clear Iggy led us back to the house and we sat back down at the dinner table, acting like dinner had never been interrupted. Ella filled me in on the "family business", explaining that they headed up a network of rebels across the empire that free prisoners, sabotage Collectors, collect data from the West, and are slowly arranging the takedown of the Supremacy and the restoration freedom to the empire. And, considering what I'd encountered since setting foot inside the Cutoff zone, I was inclined to approve of their cause.

"Our organization is called the Coalition to Stop the Madness, or the CSM for short," Iggy explained. Apparently it used to be the name of a humanitarian/environmentalist organization Valencia started pre-Cutoff, but they had sort of adopted the title when they began setting up the network. "And Ella's being modest when she says 'we' head up the CSM. She practically _started_ the rebellion!"

"I did not," Ella mumbled, blushing slightly. I had to admit, I had trouble picturing this sweet little mother of five as the leader of the rebel cause.

"Tell that to everyone else in the CSM," Iggy retorted, grinning at Ella. "They've been worshipping you since Camp Savahara and the Springer takeover."

"Yes, well," Ella cleared her throat, "you were at Savahara too."

"You can say that again," Valencia mumbled, glaring at Iggy. (Not that he could see it.) Clearly I was missing some sort of back reference, but I decided to leave the questions for later and get on to more important business.

"Well, no matter who's in charge here," I decided, "you guys are definitely the people who can help me most. I came here to find my parents, and my only lead is the fact that Collectors bear some resemblance to the goons that attacked them and made my dad disappear."

"I'm afraid we don't know much," Ella admitted, "Our intel agents out West have been monitoring the Brainworks for years, looking for any indication as to where your parents are. We still haven't found anything."

"But if Collectors captured Fang," Iggy pointed out, "then there's a good chance he's West somewhere."

"And what if they killed him all those years ago?" I asked, my stomach churning at the thought.

He frowned, as unsettled by the thought as I was. "Then the West is still your best bet at finding out more information. We could ship you out as soon as we got you some papers—"

"Iggy!" Ella interrupted, looking at him as if he'd just suggested flying me to Mars in a hot air balloon. "You're not seriously suggesting we smuggle _Max's daughter_ halfway across the continent into enemy territory! Not even you or me have gone that far in years!"

"Ella, Lex didn't come here to stay safe," he reminded her, "she came here looking for answers, and the best place to look is in the West. We'll send her to Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel—they can put her to work at the front lines, plugging for information. She could be a big help, Ella."

"I agree," Valencia added, giving a nod of approval, "If anyone finds Max and Fang, it will be Lex."

Ella was quiet for a while, frustratingly mulling over the situation. Obviously her protective motherly instincts were shifting to me because I'm her sister's daughter. But you know what they say: if you love someone, let them travel across enemy lines in search of their long lost parents. "Fine," she relented, knowing she'd lost the debate. She turned to me and said in a calm voice, "Lex, would you like to go West and help the Flock collect intel?"

I nodded eagerly in response. "Definitely."

Ella sighed. "Alright, we'll set everything up for you, but I have to insist you go by land instead of air. It's already hard enough getting past security at the best of times, but if the Collectors are smart they'll be keeping extra watch for you along the sector perimeter. You'll take the transportation we give you, and you'll take an escort who's familiar with the underground."

"I'll go!" Nina piped up.

"No!" Iggy and Ella exclaimed simultaneously.

"I was going to ask Hunt to go," Ella explained, giving her daughter a look, "He's done several runs through the underground before, so he's familiar with travelling long distances." She looked to Hunt, who gave a quick nod of acceptance.

Nina groaned, a bit like a little kid who's just been forbidden from going somewhere with her big brother. "You _never_ let me do anything! It's not like Hunt's any stronger or better-trained than I am!"

"Nina," Ella said sternly, "You're not going."

Nina scowled, but remained silent. There was an awkward pause in the room.

"So," I asked, changing topics, "when do I leave?"

It was agreed that I would leave as soon as the correct papers had been forged by the CSM printers in town, hopefully within the next couple of days. If I was going to be staying West long-term, I'd need paperwork proving that I had been approved by the government to move there as a working-class citizen. I'd have to get a job when I got there to chip in with the rent, but during my off hours Nudge could train me to search and hack the Brainworks for data that could help the CSM locate my parents. It wasn't a flashy search and rescue like I might have liked, but it was definitely a step in the right direction.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the West, Nudge was sitting in front of her plug, searching the Brainworks for any new information that might be of interest to the CSM. Her fingers glided over the keyboard flawlessly as she maneuvered her way through the 'Works, still as adept with computers as ever—though to compare a plug to an old-tech computer was like comparing a calculator to an abacus. The Brainworks was far more complex, as it ran on human brain power rather than wires and bits of metal, and so the access to the network had to be equally complicated and advanced. Thus, the plug was born.

Just then Gazzy burst in through the front door with an armful of groceries. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized, "the cashier tried to short change me ten bucks. I mean, I feel for the guy, I really do; he probably has a wife and kids at home. But he can't go around taking people's cash to meet his—"

"Don't even bother, Gasman," Nudge interrupted, seeing right through his excuse, "I know you stopped down the street to talk to that Audrey girl."

Gazzy sighed his surrender, knowing the jig was up. "How long have I been telling you not to call me Gasman anymore?" He asked Nudge.

"About since you turned thirteen," she replied, a smug grin creeping onto her face, "and you actually started caring about what people thought of you. It doesn't change the fact that it's your name, though."

He rolled his eyes, and continued, "And it's no big deal with Audrey. She's just a chick I run into sometimes at the grocery store. We've gone out to lunch a couple times, that's all."

"This is a bad idea, Gaz," Nudge warned, turning away from her screen to face him. "You know as well as I do that if that girl sees your wings she'll probably turn you in."

Walking across the room and taking a seat on the beat-up living room couch, Gazzy replied, "Nudge, I am a grown man in my late twenties who's never even kissed a girl. Forgive me if I feel a _bit_ repressed. Besides," he added, "we're supposed to act like normal Westerners, aren't we? And normal Westerners go out on dates."

Sighing in defeat, Nudge rolled her eyes and turned back to her plug. "I still think this is a bad idea," she warned, her fingers typing a bit more angrily than before.

The room was silent except for the sound of the rattering keyboard. Finally, Gazzy asked, "So, where's Angel? Still at work?"

Nudge shook her head. "She's still convinced she'll find a way to read thoughts in the Citadel. I keep telling her, 'Angel, the Citadel walls are too thick, security's too good, and the wires coming to and from it are electric and not organic, so you won't pick anything up. You should get more hours in at work.' But does she listen to me? No, she wastes all her time out by the Citadel, practically waiting to be arrested—"

"Nudge." Gazzy gave Nudge a knowing smile.

_Old habits die hard,_ Nudge thought to herself with a degree of frustration. Still, she wasn't nearly as loud-mouthed and prone to rambling on as she used to be. "Anyways, that's where she is now."

Just then Gazzy leaned back in his seat and exhaled deeply, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "I'm worried about Angel," he confessed, "have been for a long time. She's always so distant, and even when she's in the real world with the rest of us for a while, she always acts so, I don't know…"

"…Superior?" Nudge finished.

He nodded. "Exactly. It's like she thinks she's better than the rest of us. And sometimes…" he paused, "sometimes I wonder: if she wasn't stuck with the CSM because she has wings, whose side would she be on?"

"I'm worried about Angel too," Nudge agreed, "She hasn't been the same since Max and Fang… you know."

Gazzy nodded again. "I think she misses them more than any of us. Especially Max."

"And that's what worries me," Nudge continued, verbalizing what they both knew was the truth, "Angel will do anything to get Max back, and I do mean _anything_. And Max was the only one who could ever talk any sense into Angel, so now that she's gone… well, sometimes I'm worried if that old saying came true."

"What saying?"

"Power corrupts," Nudge quoted bleakly, "but absolute power corrupts absolutely."

As if on cue Angel burst in through the front door, looking a bit flustered. Immediately Nudge and Gazzy cleared their minds of their previous conversation so she wouldn't hear their thoughts about her. "Still can't get through," Angel grumbled as she trudged through the living room into the back, "I'm gonna check the computer for messages."

"For a minute I was worried you'd run off on a date like Gazzy," Nudge called out jokingly as Angel brushed past. Angel ignored her, and went directly to the computer to check the inbox.

Technically speaking, old-tech computers were illegal in the empire, but after a booming computer age full of buttons and screens, even the Collectors grew lax on collecting the endless number of electronic devices and monitoring the erratic transmission signals that still crossed the nation from time to time. The CSM had taken advantage of their lenient policy and collected as many computers as they could, distributing them to each resistance hideout. They had established their own wireless network using old communications towers, and so now all CSM operatives were able to communicate and distribute information in a matter of minutes, and the Collectors were none the wiser.

There was only one message in the inbox today, Angel noticed. It was marked UTA, which stood for 'Urgent Trainee Arrival', and it had come from the Griffiths' farm. _That's odd,_ she thought. They never got new recruits, let alone an important one. Angel clicked open the email, and when she read the message she gasped. "You guys," she called, "you might want to see this."

Nudge and Gazzy entered the room and leaned in next to Angel, wondering what would be so urgent that she'd ask for their immediate attention. They knew soon enough—once they read the email, they were astounded. It was written in code, as was the norm, but the message came through loud and clear: M AND F HAVE A HATCHLING. EXPECT DELIVERY SOON.

* * *

**Brainworks Online **– **Poets4Share **– **Addy X's Profile – "The Gallery" Collection**

"Raven Mind" by Addy X

"_How many years?" the raven sings, "How long since I saw you last?"_

_He remembers, "I offered my life for yours, my Love, and was terrified when you accepted,"_

_The raven smiles, "Relieved, but terrified, because you confirmed my suspicions."_

_He bristles and laments, "I'm empty on the inside when you're not here, because I gave myself to you._

"_And I think I know what you did with me."_

_He asks, "Is that why you ran? Because you loved someone more,_

"_Someone I'd love too if I knew for sure?"_

_Not words of bitterness, but of lacking closure,_

_As he continues to wonder, "Will I ever see you again?"_

* * *

Hmmm… your first clue to finding Fang has been revealed. }:) Pay attention, my dear, confused readers, things get even more interesting after this.

Oh, and a shout-out to **StephanieZorander**, since she's been my loyal reviewer since day one. :D It's reviewers like SZ who help to make fanfiction writing so fulfilling.


	12. The Ring

Time to update! :D I hope you like this one-we hear back from our favorite crazy girl, Becca! *laughs* And things are about to get a little crazier, if you know what I mean...

* * *

**12 – The Ring**

Over the next couple of days Becca kept a close eye on her dad—spying on him, if she was being perfectly honest with herself. Sometimes when she was walking past his office door she'd stop and listen as he worked, trying to figure out what was he was really doing in there. When he went to the store, she followed him on her bike, making sure he didn't stop anywhere else on the way. One night, she'd even gone through his office again, looking for the notebook she'd flipped through, and any other indications that something was awry. She didn't find a single thing. Was this behavior paranoid and ridiculous? _Maybe_, Becca conceded to herself, _But hey, what do you expect from a crazy girl?_

She wanted to know why her dad had appeared in her drawing, and she wanted to know what, exactly, he was doing in it. She'd had several more visions since she'd drawn the picture of her dad (or "Jeb Batchelder", as the sketch implied), but none as mysterious or troubling as that one. _What did her father have to do with the Flock?_

But it wasn't until her dad left on a business trip to China that she did something really drastic.

Now, it wasn't uncommon for Becca's father to leave on a trip to Beijing a few times a year—when the original internet collapsed during the Cutoff, China and Japan had risen to world powerdom by rebuilding cyberspace—so many businesses had their headquarters in Beijing no. But Becca had had no reason to think anything of those journeys before. She'd always assumed he was off doing something for the ambiguous marketing company he consulted for. But this time when he left, Becca found herself wondering: is he really there on company business, or is there something else he's not telling me?

An idea was quickly forming in Becca Thompson's head, and she wasn't sure she liked it. _I'm just looking at my options,_ Becca rationalized, as she went into her father's bedroom, _Dad is probably at a business conference, like he said he was. You're finding your passport in case something strange turns up. _Following her dad to Beijing was a stupid idea, but then, so was everything else she'd ever done in her life. Why would flying off to China be any different than the other shenanigans? _Because this time you're worried something might actually be wrong, _she reminded herself. Becca groaned frustratedly. Why did her dad turn up in that sketch? What had he done?

Her father's room, which she had treaded in fewer times than even her father's office, was reasonably clean. Her dad was a reasonable sort of person. Becca made a beeline for his closet, knowing that on the top shelf he kept important things like passports and birth certificates inside a box. If, by some twist of fate, she was compelled to chase her father to Beijing, she'd need the right documents. Fortunately, she knew for a fact that he kept pre-written permission notes along with the passports, just in case she ever needed to travel by herself on short notice.

When she opened her dad's small, well-stuffed closet, Becca was able to see the box of passports jammed up on top of the pile of junk on the upper shelf. She stretched as far as she could, getting up onto her tippy-toes, but even then she only barely touched the box's side. _If only I was as tall as Lex,_ she thought to herself, annoyed by her shortness. As there were no chairs nearby that she could drag over to the closet, Becca resorted to jumping, swatting at the side of the box with each leap, trying to knock it loose. After about a minute of this the box came free—as did several other items, which rained down on Becca in dramatic fashion.

"Ah!" she yelped, putting her hands up to deflect the fall of boxes and blankets. When the junk stopped falling on top of her, she turned to the collection of items at her feet and singled out the box of documents and passports. "Gotcha," she muttered, smiling triumphantly.

As she leaned down to pick it up though, she caught site of another box that had tumbled out of the closet. It was a file box, but it was empty enough that she had been able to knock it loose and send it falling to the floor. All the other boxes in the closet had been heavier, full of boring papers like financial statements and bank returns. What on earth could be in it?

Maybe it's time to find out, Becca thought to herself, picking up the box and placing it on the bed. Carefully she removed the lid of the file box, peering inside to see what treasures it might hold. And when she did get a good look at the contents, the implications of what her findings meant sent her reeling. _First the vision, and now…this?_

Becca began taking things out of the box, looking at everything more closely. Some of her drawings were in here, she saw—it wasn't surprising that she didn't notice they had been missing, since there were so many of them. What was even stranger, though, was that paper clipped to each sketch of a Flock member was a corresponding photograph of the person portrayed. A photograph; as in, her father either knew someone who knew the Flock or had actually taken these pictures himself. Becca fumed and continued sorting through the box's contents. What other secrets was he hiding from her?

Also in the box was another notebook, bigger and thicker than the one she'd found before. This notebook, however, appeared to be a journal of some sort. Most of the pages were encoded, a safeguard against prying eyes. There were a few pages not written in code, though; pages that had apparently been penned when her dad had been too rushed or distracted to translate them.

Sitting down on the bed, Becca read through the un-coded pages, savoring each one as if it was part of a favorite novel. _I've failed so many times, so many people, _the words lamented in her dad's handwriting, _Max, Ari, the Flock… all of them either despise me or are dead. Or both. I don't deserve a second chance, but I have to try. For all the times I've failed, I have to succeed just this once. Still, at moments I still can't believe I'm doing what I'm doing—it's insane, the plan of a madman. If either the Americans or the Asians knew what I was up to, stealing their technology and adapting it for my own use, they would have my head. But with the Barrier scheduled to activate in mere days, and with the Americans threatening to take Max's neutralization into their own hands if I can't remove her as a threat, I had to do what's best for everyone. Even if it meant eliminating Max from the equation. Do you know how terrible it is, being forced to take Max and—well, I shouldn't discuss that here, on a page that isn't secure. But Max is gone now, and I have to accept that; I have to start over in my new life with Rebecca. Oh, Rebecca, my second chance! All she is, all the failures and hopes from my past represented in a baby girl, it breaks my heart. I have to keep her safe, I have to make her happy and ensure she is blissfully ignorant of all that shadows both her past and mine. She's a new beginning in a world that is quickly going to experience a new beginning of its own._

Becca felt her throat go dry after reading the first page. Her dad had known about the Cutoff before it happened. He had been the one to make Max disappear. And there was something about her past that her dad wasn't telling her. _…all that shadows both her past and mine. _What did that mean? Quickly she flipped ahead to the next legible page, hoping to find some answers.

_I'm at a loss to do about Rebecca and her "visions", as she calls them. Such a bizarre side-effect, one I never could have anticipated! If it weren't for the fact that America is now dead to the international world, and that the Chinese would kill me if they knew about my doings, I'd love to discuss starting a study with some of my colleagues, to figure out why Becca is reacting this way. I've been able to keep her fairly regulated, with only bi-yearly travels to Beijing to make adjustments, but not yet have I been able to make the visions and dreams go away completely. So for now I'll keep Becca on art therapy to help relieve some of the mental stress she's feeling. Drawing seems to calm her, and the images she makes are of a good enough quality that I can begin to assess how troublesome the situation may become. Hopefully she'll stabilize enough that drastic re-adjustments won't be necessary._

More questions, no answers. Just great. Becca flipped to the final page, the last (and most hastily written) page that had been penned:

_I'm concerned about Becca—really concerned. Lex's departure has seriously destabilized her, to the point where I don't think I can go any longer without doing something to remedy her instabilities once and for all. If Becca learns too much about her origins, or about my dealings with the Flock, all I've done to protect her is pointless. I'm leaving tomorrow for the old Itex building near Beijing, maybe to stay at the White Rabbit hotel since it's so close. I have to save her; by any means necessary, I have to keep anyone from hurting Becca—especially Becca herself. I just hope I can make it there and back in once piece; an old informant tells me that the Chinese government may know what I've been up to, and they'll be keeping a sharp lookout for me. They wouldn't want anyone disrupting the delicate balance of their world empire, after all._

After she'd read the last word of the last page, Becca slammed the book shut. She bit down on her lip. What did this mean? She knew what it meant for her father: this journal proved that he was a scientist, a kidnapper, and a liar—and possibly a murderer, if he was the one tasked with 'eliminating' Max. But what about her? Where was she left in the midst of all of this? Was she just an innocent bystander in all this, or was there something more to her? _Maybe Maximum Ride wasn't the only mad science experiment, _Becca thought darkly, as she replaced the contents of the box. There was no doubt in her mind now: she had to go to Beijing. Adjustments to remedy her instabilities… her dad was planning on doing something with her—to her— and she wanted to know what.

When Becca placed the pictures and journal back inside the box, her eye caught sight of a glinting object in the corner of the box. Something she had missed earlier. Reaching back into the box, Becca grabbed the object—which was strung on a tether—and dangled it in front of her face. It was a ring.

_Unbelievable,_ she thought, examining the ring closely. It was a plain-looking ring; a shiny silver band, strung on a length of black leather. Becca recognized this ring, she realized—from Lex's photo of her mum, and from her own drawings, which sometimes depicted Max or Fang wearing a ring like this. _One way to know for sure,_ Becca thought, examining the inside of the ring. Sure enough, on the inside of the ring was inscribed: _Fang_. This was Max's wedding ring; the one that, according to Lex's parents, Max swore she would never take off as long as she was breathing.

_But maybe Maximum Ride isn't breathing,_ Becca thought coldly, clutching the ring, _Did you really kill her dad? Did you kill Maximum Ride?_

* * *

You know, I don't know why, but I've always imagined Max and Fang wearing wedding rings like pendants rather than rings if they were to get hitched. It's kind of hard to punch out a bad guy with a ring digging into your flesh, you know? Plus, I've always thought it'd be more practical in some ways.


	13. To Town with Grandma

Hmmm… this is a chapter where Lex receives sound words of wisdom from her grandmother. And they get to make a poor Collector squirm. :P I feel sorry for my Collectors, actually—they're all a bunch of clones without free will, after all. :( Wouldn't it stink to be part of a clone army? I mean, no one would know you from the next guy over, you'd just be Joe Clone your entire life. *tsk-tsk* The identity crises would be terrible!

**Steve:** Hey Joe.

**Bob: **I'm not Joe, I'm Bob.

**Joe:** *walks up* But I thought you were Steve!

**Steve: **No, I'm Steve!

**Bob:** *sigh* This is why we're supposed to wear the name tags.

But anyways, on with the story.

* * *

**13 – To Town with Grandma**

It was two days before the paperwork I needed was printed off, and I was finally able to leave for the West. I was a bit sad that I only had a couple of days to get to know my extended family, but at the same time I was eager to get going. I wanted—needed—to help the CSM find my birth parents. I could feel it in my bones; this was my key to finding them.

The plan was laid out: Hunt would leave early in the morning to retrieve the papers, and Valencia—or, sorry, Grandma, since that's what she tells me to call her—would escort me to the mysterious drop-off point where Hunt and I would begin our journey. A few days later, we'd be in the West and I'd take up my new post.

I had been kept mostly in the dark about how this trip was going down; Ella thought it was best to keep me away from dangerous knowledge for as long as possible, so that if I was captured before we could leave they couldn't torture any more information out of me than I already knew. Honestly, though, I think mostly she was just being protective—she was the same way with Nina, I could tell. She doesn't want us to know or do more than we have to. I think it's because we both look so much like Max.

It was still dark when Grandma and I set out on foot for the nearby town, though I think that was partially because the sky's always cloudy in the Cutoff zone. We were both well bundled up, since it was chilly outside. "It's almost cold enough for snow," Grandma remarked, "it would be the first time in a good ten years."

"I still can't believe I found you guys," I reveled, "I mean, if Nina and Hunt hadn't bailed me out…"

"It was meant to be," my grandmother declared with a proud grin, "greatness and heroism is in your blood. You were born to have amazing things happen to you."

I lowered my head bashfully. "I'm no hero. I'm here because I'm lucky."

"You are here," Grandma asserted, "because you are brave. Because you have a sense of direction in life. And because you love your parents, even though you've never met them." She smiled, then told me, "You know, I didn't meet Max until she was fourteen years old—she was injured protecting Ella from bullies, did you know that?"

"I didn't."

Grandma continued, "So she came home with Ella, and I fixed her up so she could meet up with her Flock again. She managed to dart in and out of my life after that. And, as I got to know her better, I could see such courage in her, such honor. She wanted to do what's right, and when you were in trouble she wouldn't rest until you were safe again. And your father…" she paused, "Fang was hard to get to know. But I knew that the Flock was his world, and that he'd give up everything for them. That he'd give up everything for Max.

"You don't find many good people in this world anymore, or people who really understand what love or loyalty is. Your parents did; they loved each other deeply, and they were willing to sacrifice themselves for the other—and for the world." She looked deeply into my eyes. "They passed that heroism down to you, Lex. You were born to be a hero."

"That's a lot of expectation to put on a teenage girl," I laughed, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't work.

"I have every confidence in you, my dear," Grandma told me, smiling again. Her smile reminded me a little of Max's.

We walked in silence for a few minutes, before Grandma said something again. "So, what do you think of the mighty empire?" she asked, smirking sarcastically.

"It's… lovely," I responded. "Well actually, it's terrible. Not only doesn't it have internet access, but the weather's always overcast and the air is muggy. Not to mention there's a whole army of super-human clones that want to kill me." I tried to keep a straight face, but Grandma and I couldn't help but giggle a little.

"It makes you think, though, doesn't it?"

"About what?"

"About the modern world," Grandma explained, "In some ways, the way most North Americans live now isn't much different than the lives we imposed on other people in other countries, back when America was at the top of the world. After all, you've seen it for yourself—on one coast girls are being chained up inside of taverns and children are being taken as tax payment, while on the other coast the elite few enjoy the luxuries that everyone's poverty is built upon. It's something to ponder."

"Yeah, I guess so." I hadn't thought about it that way before. I mean, everyone's seen footage of starving kids in Africa and of little Asian girls working in sweat shops—all so we can have cheaper clothing and fancy electronics. But being here in North America where I can see the poverty, where Ella says an estimated 60% of the empire's population works long, underpaid hours in unsafe factories, it makes it all more real somehow.

"Now, I'm not afraid of a hard life," Grandma added, "in fact, if it's one thing that caused North America to go down the tubes, it was the fact that life became too easy for us. The problem is not when we lose our freedom to do what we want, but what is right. This world doesn't allow much space for doing what's right. And so," she concluded, "we keep fighting."

We had to stop talking when we got into town—many were on our side, Grandma told me, but not all could be trusted—so we walked in silence down the cracked asphalt street. When most people hear the phrase 'farming town', they think of an idyllic little country nook with a few old-fashiony buildings and a couple pick-up trucks parked along the tiny main street. This town was nothing like that. This was a cold, efficient establishment, with boxy industrial buildings and Collectors patrolling every street. People scurried down the sidewalks without speaking or making eye contact, as if they were afraid a Collector would notice them and somehow cause them to spontaneously combust. This was a town ruled by fear, I realized.

"If anyone approaches us," my grandmother warned in a low voice, "let me do the talking." I nodded, and allowed her to guide me through the streets towards wherever our destination was. It was hard walking through the town; it wasn't nearly as impoverished as the primitive town of Digby, but the harshness of the environment ate away at me, and the ever present cloud of factory chemicals hung in the air like an asphyxiant. The Griffiths were very lucky to live on the farm instead of in town, I thought to myself.

Just then we were approached by a Collector—not a fun experience for me. Half of me wanted to run, and the other half wanted to bash him over the head, but I kept a brave face on and acted like his presence didn't affect me. "What are you doing here?" he asked Grandma, "Why are you not at work, and this young lady not in school?"

"Work!" My grandma exclaimed with grouchy outrage, "Young man, you don't know work until you've raised a child for eighteen years and then get stuck with the grandkids while the mother and her no-good husband work the farm! That's where I live, you know, with my daughter's family. This is my granddaughter from my other girl, poor soul, disappeared when the Barrier went up! Raised by friends of the family in the city, she came out here hoping to meet a country boy and get out of the factories, didn't you sweetie?"

"Oh, yes," I went along, "I've always liked the country."

"She's a good girl," Grandma rambled, "had a good daddy, better than that piece of work my Ella married. And she's smart too! Such a shame she dropped out of school to get a job, don't you think? She'll make a fine wife for some lucky young farmer."

"Um," the Collector started, looking quite uncomfortable, "that doesn't explain why you're here in town."

"Why isn't it obvious?" she exclaimed, "I'm having my dear granddaughter to church! It's Sunday, don't you know."

"Large religious gatherings are prohibited," the Collector responded automatically.

"You'd stop an old woman from saying her prayers in solitude, young man?" Grandma snapped, "I know there's no service today, but that isn't going to stop me from going to that old church and saying a few prayers for my granddaughter here! With all the ladies moving out here to find men, it'll be a miracle if she snags one any time soon. You know, that's the problem with you young people these days, no God sense in you—"

"Alright, ma'am," the Collector told her, "I get it. You can go on your way now."

"Sorry about my grandmother," I apologized, "she gets grumpy in the mornings, and she had a fight with my uncle before we came here."

"That's fine," the Collector replied, turning and walking away quickly.

Once he was out of earshot, both me and my grandma cracked up laughing. "That was amazing!" I told her, "Who knew you made such a wonderful grumpy old lady?"

"No one ever suspects the rambling old hag," Grandma bragged, "they fall for it every time. They can't wait to get rid of you. Nice touch with the apology, by the way."

I grinned. "Thanks. Though I get the feeling that some of your comments about Uncle Iggy weren't all play-acting…?"

"Oh, your uncle's fine," Grandma insisted, a teasing glint in her eye, "I just always take a jab at him when I get the chance. It's an in-law thing." She shook her head, "Though sometimes I wish I'd clobbered him good after the Savahara incident."

"What?" I asked.

"Oh, it's far too long to explain now, but I'm sure you'll hear the Savahara story eventually," Grandma reassured me, "though if you ever get a chance to go up north you should hear Ella's friend Vera tell it. She loves blabbing all of Ella's embarrassing mishaps."

I grinned, intrigued by all these CSM secrets. "Maybe I will." Then I asked, "So, will you tell me where we're going yet?"

"I suppose so, seeing as I already told that poor Collector," Grandma winked at me, "we're going just where I said we were: to church."


	14. The Ski Lift

Hmmm… I like this chapter. We get to know our boy Hunt a little better, and we find out exactly how the CSM likes to tote its agents around. :P Gotta give them points for originality.

* * *

**14 – The Ski Lift**

The church stood at the edge of town and looked about the same as 'most any decent-sized church built in the last fifty years—big, but not overly fancy, made of brown brick and decorated only with a large white cross bolted to the wall. There were flowerbeds along the sides of the building, but you could tell that it had been a while since anyone bothered tending them. The aged, almost welcoming look of the place was a stark contrast from the lines and grids that filled most of the rest of town, but it was a building that you could easily overlook and that had no real relevance to anyone's everyday lives anymore, now that church gatherings were illegal.

That, Grandma explained, made it a perfect CSM hideout.

Even though the building was no longer used for services, the old pastor and his family used it as a house—more room for all the kids than there is in the apartments, they would say if asked. And they _did_ have a lot of kids, I noticed; twelve, some of them their biological children and others orphans rescued from the street. They do it because they love children, Grandma told me, but also because it makes a good cover story: with so many people coming and going, with kids running here and there and the odd desperate soul wandering to the church for solace, no one thought a thing when people came and went from the building at all hours of the day. Besides, who would suspect an orphan-loving pastor's family of being gatekeepers to one of the CSM's most important underground tunnels?

"Welcome," the pastor greeted us warmly when he opened the door. "Glad you made it here safely."

"I pulled the old lady trick on them again," Grandma declared, grinning proudly. "By now I'm sure they think I'm the grumpiest old woman in the entire sector."

"I'm sure," he replied with a smile.

"Is Hunt here?" I asked, looking around but only seeing a gaggle of children.

"He is," the pastor confirmed, "he's waiting for you in the basement. Come this way." He ushered me down the hallway towards an open door that led to a set of stairs. My grandmother stayed at the front door.

"Tell everyone I say goodbye!" I called to her, before following the pastor down the stairs. She waved at me, and then I was gone, descending into the dimly lit basement below.

Hunt was sitting on a chair in the corner when we came downstairs. He looked as tense and serious as ever. "You're here," he said, standing up. "I already put the papers in your backpack." He motioned to a pair of packs lying against the wall.

"You remember your instructions?" The pastor asked Hunt. He nodded. "Good. Hunt, you know the way to the tunnel. Godspeed, you two." Then he went back upstairs and shut the door behind him, leaving us alone.

"Here, help me over here," Hunt motioned, walking towards the far brick wall, "I unlocked it already; it opens when you push hard enough." He directed me to a section of the wall and we started pushing, and sure enough, little by little, part of the wall gave way. It appeared to be a rotating piece, a section of interlocking bricks that weren't properly cemented and could be swiveled like a roundabout door.

Once it was opened wide enough for us to slip through we stepped onto the dark platform on the other side, which turned out to be a lift. It was operated by a series of chains and pulleys, and Hunt navigated it down the dark shaft into the tunnel below. As we went down, I looked up and saw the opening in the brick wall close itself.

"What's it like down there?" I asked, peering over the edge of the platform.

"The first few miles of the tunnel is an abandoned sewer line," Hunt explained, "It hasn't been used for decades. The rest of the tunnel was dug out by CSM operatives."

We finally arrived at the bottom of the shaft, and after Hunt had re-positioned the lift platform (so that the next person who tried to use it wouldn't take an unfortunate fall down the shaft) we began walking down the tunnel at a brisk pace. At first I was worried we'd actually be walking to the West—which would have been enough of a challenge for me, let alone for a human tagalong—but Hunt assured me that there was transportation up ahead. When I asked him what, he just smiled and told me to be patient. I rolled my eyes. Boys sometimes.

When we finally got to our transportation, though, I was a bit surprised. I had been expecting a mine car, or some weird, complicated system of zip lines that looked like it belonged in a James Bond movie. What I wasn't expecting though, was…

"A ski lift?" I asked, examining at the setup skeptically.

Hunt was at the tiny control booth a few meters away from the lift, his back turned to me while he was flipping switches to get the power going. "Hey," he called, with what might have been an amused grin on his face, "Don't bash the lift until you've tried it. This thing happens to stretch several hundred miles. It's a legend in the CSM."

"Several hundred miles!" I exclaimed. I think I might go crazy if I had to ride on one of these things that long. I mean, it didn't even go up; it just ran straight down the tunnel. "How did they even build a passage that long, or get the parts for the lift?"

"An estimated thirty percent of the UNAE's population has resistance ties," Hunt quoted proudly. "Some of those thirty percent happen to be construction workers, explosives experts, and parts suppliers." I'd been around Hunt long enough to know that CSM was his point of pride, and he was enjoying this opportunity to gloat about the resistance's accomplishments all too much.

Once the ski lift up and running, Hunt and I boarded (if that's even the right word) one of the ski lift chairs, and we were off. We were off very slowly, but we were off. "Well this is exciting," I said sarcastically as the lift puttered along. At this rate, we'd arrive at our stop by the end of the month.

Hunt just shook his head and rolled his eyes at me. "Just lower the safety restraint," he told me. I did, then I saw the little control switch attached to the middle of the restraint bar. "Make sure your backpack's secure," he warned with a devilish smile, flicking the switch and sending me reeling.

How on earth they got a ski lift to go from zero to fifty in like five seconds is beyond me.

* * *

Once I had adjusted to the speed the ski lift was going at (and Hunt had stopped smirking), I tried starting a conversation. "So," I asked casually, "you do this kind of thing often?"

"Sometimes," he replied, "when someone needs an escort or a computer part needs to be delivered."

"It beats working at McDonalds, huh," I told him, smiling a little. He stared at be blankly as if he didn't know what I was talking about. "Oh," I realized foolishly, "I guess you wouldn't be too familiar with the world of fast food around here."

"Fast food lost popularity after the Barrier went up," Hunt explained, "and most companies not owned by one of the members of the Supremacy were shut down anyways, so even in the West there's not as many stores and restaurants to choose from."

"You ever been to the West?" I asked.

Hunt's face hardened and he shook his head. "No," he replied curtly.

Then he asked me, "So… Lex Hardly. Is Lex short for anything?"

"Alexandria," I told him, "like the ancient city."

"Got a middle name?"

"My birth mum never gave me a middle name," I told him, "but when we moved to England and my parents got all my paperwork in order, they listed my middle name as Ride. Paying homage to Max, I suppose." Then I turned the tables and asked, "So what about you? What's your full name?"

Scrunching his nose as if recalling an unpleasant memory, he replied, "I don't like my full name. Not even Nina knows it."

"What!" I whined, "I just told you my full name, and you're not going to tell me yours?"

"Nope."

"That's unfair!"

Hunt's mouth curled up into a slight smile. "That's life."

"You're mean," I pouted, before returning to my normal, blank condition. "Fine. If you won't tell me that, will you at least tell me how you ended up living with the Griffiths?"

"Only if you tell me which of your accents is your real one. I've heard you talk English and American."

I shrugged. "I honestly don't know. Both? I like to use the American one more, but I switch between them sometimes when I'm not paying attention. Now," I urged, "Tell me how you ended up on the farm."

"Okay, then." Hunt began, "When I was a kid I had a falling out with my parents, you could say. At age twelve I ran away from home. I caught rides on the backs of transporters, and whenever they arrived at a sector border I'd either find a way to hide on top of the transporter or I'd abandon the ride and run like crazy. Once I was riding on the back of a transporter and lost my grip, and I fell into the ditch and broke my arm. The ditch was right by one of the Griffiths' fields, so Iggy found me and took me back to the house.

"Ella and Val took care of me, and Nina kept me company, so I liked it there. And when I told them the… _nature_ of my disagreement with my parents, and how I had managed to travel across numerous sectors almost undetected, she and Iggy thought I'd be a good recruit to the CSM. So now I make deliveries, escort new recruits to their training positions, and in my spare time I hijack transporters with Nina." He smiled slightly at his last comment.

Finally I ventured to ask, "So, you and Nina are close?"

Hunt nodded. "She's like a sister to me," he explained, "but I'm not interested in her that way, if that's what you're asking. Not interested in girls at all, actually."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "You mean you're—"

Hunt realized how _odd_ his last comment had sounded. "No! That's not what I meant!" he blushed slightly when he cut me off, and clarified, "I was just saying that there's more important things than girls to worry about. The CSM has my heart, so to speak."

"Ah," I remarked dramatically, "the dedicated agent who swears love and loyalty to nothing but the cause, just like in the movies."

"Something like that."

I smirked. "You do realize, though, that in pretty much all those movies the dedicated agent always ends up falling for his scantily-clad accomplice, or a sexy assassin, or a damsel in distress…"

"Well this isn't a movie," Hunt reminded me, "and there are no scantily-clad accomplices, sexy assassins, or damsels in distress riding on this ski lift. If you don't mind, could we not discuss this anymore?"

I shrugged indifferently, and we stopped talking for a long time. Still, I felt a little proud that I had gotten Mr. Serious to have an almost-casual conversation; getting him to chat with me had been nearly impossible up to that point. There was a slight quirk in the fact that we discussed private details instead of normal topics, like favorite books or the weather. Still, progress was progress. _There is more to Hunt than meets the eye, _I decided, _and being the nosy kind of person I am, I want to find out what it is._

The next thing I said to Hunt a few minutes later wasn't nearly as personal as our discussion before, but it was every bit important. "What are we supposed to do for bathroom arrangements on this thing?" I asked him, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

Hunt smiled a little, and then pointed to a sign attached to one of the ski lift supports. "Look for yourself." He flipped the switch and brought the ski lift to a slow so that I could get a good look at the sign. It read: BATHROOM IN 50 YDS. PREPARE TO JUMP. Charming.


	15. Becca in Beijing

Funny story: you know **AngelwiththeClippedWings**? (Wrote _My Name is Fang, Welcome to My Hell_ and _Loss, Love, and Life_; very good stories, you should read them) Well I was chatting with him today, and he told me that he and his friends went to a party last night. However, while attending said party they decided to play a joke on everyone: AwtCW pretended to be blind! Well, the whole group fell for it, so he spent the entire evening staring into space and trying not to laugh while his friends made blind jokes and the other attendees tried not to offend him. Talk about pulling an Iggy, right? ;)

Today we go back to Becca, who is getting into trouble all of her own. Good luck, Becca… you're going to need it. 0:)

* * *

**15 – Becca in Beijing**

Becca's journey to Beijing was fairly uneventful. She'd had a couple of visions on the flight, which she'd sketched down in her usual speedy fashion, but the rest of the flight she devoted to decoding her dad's journal. Her father had educated her in many things: self-defense, art, Mandarin and Japanese, and now it was time to use all her dad's lessons on cryptography and code-breaking. Over the span of the flight, when she wasn't distracting herself by staring at Max's wedding ring, Becca was able to decode a good part of his journal. Unfortunately, the entries were grossly uninformative and mostly commented on milestones in Becca's life:

_Becca is learning to walk, and she seems to be progressing quite normally for a child her age._

_I tested Becca's mental development today, and she seems perfectly normal for a child her age._

_Becca is thirteen years old, and her body is maturing normally, as I'd anticipated._

So many entries about why she's normal, and few about why she isn't. And even then, the ones that did indicate irregularities were basically a repetition of the same message: _Something's wrong with Becca, I need to go to the old Itex building and adjust things._ Adjust what? Was she being controlled by a giant satellite beaming down from the heavens? Was she an _alien_ of some sort? Or maybe she was really a sleeper agent, and one day she would gain supernatural powers and have the sudden urge to murder a politician. Either way, she was going to have to spend more time working on the complicated pages; those were where the big secrets were hidden, she was sure of it.

At least she had one lead to go on: the White Rabbit, a small hotel located in the outskirts of Beijing. Her father had mentioned it in his last journal entry, and hopefully, if he was staying there, she could confront him about the whole thing. If he wasn't staying there, then Becca would go looking for the Itex building herself.

By the time Becca arrived at the hotel, she was exhausted, but when she checked in at the front desk she had to ask the woman, who looked to be in about her fifties, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the old Itex building, would you? I believe it's close to here."

"I know little," she replied in broken English, "there was a big crowd, lots of children. Maybe twenty years ago? Big fuss about Itex world takeover, and big fuss over a… a balog."

"You mean a blog?"

The woman nodded. "One of those winged children type it. My daughter make big deal over blog, and go with crowd and scare off Itex company. Few scientists come and go, but it now mostly empty."

"I've heard some of this before," Becca explained to the woman, "but I don't know much."

"You wouldn't," the woman replied, waving her hand in the air, "because all they talk about is Cutoff. Cutoff, Cutoff, Cutoff, Cutoff!" She scoffed. "We lost continent, but those winged children saved the world. _She_ saved the world."

"She?" Becca already knew who the woman was talking about, but she didn't care. Hearing this stirred something up inside of her, something good. It was like she was a child, having her favorite story book read to her for the millionth time. Excitedly she clutched Max's ring, which hung around her neck for safekeeping.

"Maximum Ride," the woman told her, "Maximum Ride saved the world."

_Pencils, paper, erasers, sharpeners._ Becca's hands flew as she wielded her utensils, drawings forming themselves in front of her at a rapid pace. Most other times Becca would be frustrated with all these visions, but this time she wasn't. She was enjoying the flood of pictures, a deluge of the vivid past passing over her like a tidal wave.

_Lines, curves, shading, angles._ Pictures of riots, filled with angry teenagers, fists raised and mouths open in a battle cry. Fights, clashes with hideous creatures and superhuman demigods, the faces of friends and enemies mingled together in a harried face-off. The thoughtful face of a dark-haired boy, leaning against a tree, his obsidian eyes fixed on the screen of a laptop—a hero, a liberator of nations, swaying the masses through the written word.

_I need to know,_ Becca screamed on the inside, _Like_ _Lex had to leave for the Cutoff zone, I have to draw. I have to find the Itex building. I have to know how what happened to Max. I have to know what's wrong with me._ As she drew every new sketch, every picture so detailed and dramatic they almost looked alive, she felt as if the Flock was somehow there with her, sharing their memories of the past from beyond the Barrier; as if Max somehow haunted the ring around Becca's neck and was trying to tell her something in this sudden burst of inspiration. The truth was hiding somewhere behind these pictures, she just knew it.

When the rush of visions stopped Becca nearly passed out at her desk, the adrenaline in her veins suddenly turning to lead. _What time is it?_ She wondered, too exhausted to lift up her head and see. She must have been drawing for hours, she realized, and now the desk was covered in sketches and pencil shavings. _So tired_, she thought, her eyelids drooping, _need to sleep…_

But then it came in a flash. The final vision.

Reluctantly Becca lifted her head off of the desktop, willing her eyes to open and her arms to start working again. _I have to draw, _she told herself, even though her hand was screaming from the overuse, _just one more picture for tonight. _Like an animal she clawed for a pencil, and even though she was only half-awake, she sat up straight again and began to draw.

A few minutes later, she was done. It was the same picture, she realized, as she had drawn before—the one where her father was dressed in a lab coat and standing over what had seemed to be a head on a table. This time, though, the view of the picture had zoomed out, as if the sketch was like a camera shot. Becca could now see new details, items and actions that had been hidden to her before. She could see her dad's hands at work now, as well as the entire head and shoulders of the body on the table (it's definitely Max, Becca realized, seeing her face and the tucked-in wings). He appeared to be attaching some sort of probe to Max's forehead and the back of her neck, she realized, with the wires trailing from the probes running off the page. At the other edge of the paper, at the back of the room, she could see part of a desk and a computer monitor. _I bet the probes are connected to the computer somehow._

So her father, Jeb Batchelder, was attaching wires to Max's head in the picture. What did that mean? Had he been studying her, or was he doing something else? _So many questions, so little sleep. _Enough was enough for one night, Becca decided, I'll get some sleep and get a better look in the morning. And so she went to sleep.

Unfortunately, she never got a chance to look at the picture again.

* * *

On an off-topic note, I just had to make one thing very clear:

**Leela, Hunt will never be your boy. EVER.**


	16. Erik the Redhead

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving! :D I hope you're all having a great long weekend. I've had a good one, though I've learned two very important lessons:

1. Never critique fanfiction when you're over-tired. Especially if you're me, who has a tendency to go all drill sergeant with people's stories when I see grammar/plot errors. It's nothing personal, it's just how I roll.

2. If you want to pull an all-nighter the evening after a potluck, don't try to take a nap beforehand. You won't wake up for another eight ours, even if you set an alarm.

Hehe, I love this chapter. XD It's slightly stereotypical of MR fanfiction, but I couldn't resist. Enjoy!

* * *

**16 – Erik the Redhead**

It's strange what three days on a turbo-speed ski lift can do to a person. The boredom's enough to even make quiet people like me and Hunt resort to talking for entertainment.

Even though we were obviously both lacking in conversational skills, we did gab from time to time, if only to pass the hours away. We took turns picking topics: memories, hobbies, jokes, comparing our differing social structures. Hunt wasn't bad company, I suppose—even if he was overly obsessed with the CSM—and he seemed interested in what I had to say too, asking even about little life details like the brand of breakfast cereal I ate back in England. I guess it was because the outside was a foreign world to him, unknowable and untouchable. I probably would have been the same way if someone like him had turned up back home. And on my end, there was still so much about this civilization and my family that I didn't know, so it was great being able to ask him questions about those things. We were interesting to each other, I suppose.

All the same, though, I was relieved when we finally came to the end of the lift. I mean, you can only spend so much time with someone on a ski lift before things get awkward and talk dies out. "Finally," I muttered under my breath when I saw the end of the tunnel. Hunt gave a quick nod of agreement. When we came to the ski lift's turnabout point we both jumped and landed on the concrete. My landing was _slightly_ better than his.

"Ow…" Hunt moaned, picking himself up off the floor, "why did I let you talk me into jumping off while the thing was at full speed?"

"Because I needed a little excitement." I smirked, and then turned my attention back to the lift. "Do we need to turn the ski lift off?" There was, I noticed, only one little door leading out of the small cave I found we were now inside of. _I wonder where that goes?_ Of course, after the ski lift, nothing would surprise me.

"No, it'll turn off on its own eventually." Then Hunt directed his eyes towards the back of the cave. I looked too, and saw what had caught his attention: there was a long piece of rope hanging down from the shadowy cave roof, and attached to the rope was a sign that said 'PULL FOR SERVICE'. "That's new," Hunt commented, eying the rope curiously.

"Should we pull it?"

"I guess so." Hunt walked ahead of me and checked out the rope, making sure it wasn't poisoned (or whatever resistance operatives check for before grabbing mysterious ropes), and then he looked up to see where it was coming from. "I can't see what it's attached to," he said as I walked up to him. Once he'd inspected the rope to his satisfaction, he finally just grabbed the rope and gave it a good yank.

Fortunately I, having the superior vision out of the two of us, spotted the rope's origin at the last minute and was able to move out of the way in time.

_SPLASH!_

_drip…drip…drip…_

"Erik," Hunt growled in a low, angry voice, his head and shoulders now covered in dripping mud. I tried not to burst out laughing. He looked like a slime monster from the Black Lagoon.

No sooner did he say that did an amused chuckling fill the cave, and a handsome young man with red hair stepped out of the shadows. "You should have seen your face, Hunty," he laughed, "you're the fifth person I've pulled that prank on, but it's still as funny as ever.

"Though I noticed the young lady was wise enough to step out of the way in time." He took a step towards me and bowed dramatically. "Welcome to my humble abode, fair traveler of the ski lift." He beamed at me with perfect white teeth. "My name is Erik."

After wiping the mud out of his eyes best he could, Hunt started, "Erik, this is—"

"Ah-ah-ah!" Erik held up a hand, stopping him from saying any more, "You know my policy. I don't take the names of new recruits. If I don't know you, I can't tell them who you are if they catch me." Again he grinned and hinted, "Though I must admit, I'm seriously tempted to ask the name of your lovely companion." I felt a smile creeping onto my face when he kneeled and asked me, "Tell me, fair traveler, would you ever considering settling here in the sector of Kridland with a wretched soul like me?"

I rolled my eyes and tried not to giggle like an idiot. "Sorry, I'm bound for the West."

"I see." Erik wiped a fake tear from his eye, "Well in that case, let's go up to the house so you can eat, relieve yourselves, _shower off_," he eyed Hunt, "and then get you on your way." With a final wink in my direction he turned and left through the door. At that moment I realized I had a stupid grin on my face.

"You don't want to get mixed up with Erik," muddy Hunt warned as he tried to get the gunk out of his hair. "He's a total ladies' man. You give him an inch, he'll take a mile." Now his hair was all spiky and misshapen, and I was trying not to laugh at how ridiculous he looked.

"Oh relax," I told him, "I'm not an idiot, I know a chaser when I see one." More quietly I added, "I just have a thing for redheads, th'sall."

Hunt rolled his eyes at me, and then we followed Erik through the door.

A couple hours later we were back on the road—this time literally on the road, in the back of a transporter. And no, we weren't captured by Collectors.

Erik explained the whole set up to me as we drove, speaking to us via a television intercom that transmitted between the cab and the prisoner unit. "You see, the West is blocked off from the rest of the world by the biggest, meanest concrete wall you could imagine. It's a very nice-looking wall, but unless you suddenly grow wings and fly—" Hunt and I glanced at each other and exchanged flickering half-smiles, "—you're not getting past it anytime soon. Nor are you going to get under it, because that thing practically goes down to the center of the earth and back. And since the Barrier is a little too crispy of an area for hiking this time of year, we're sure as taxes ain't going to get around it. So boys and girls," he grinned his flashy grin yet again, "how do we get into the West?"

"Through the gate, Erik," Hunt answered, rolling his eyes. I got the feeling Erik's happy-go-lucky nature irritated him.

"Correct. As you can see," Erik told us, motioning to his outfit, "I am wearing my nifty-thrifty Collector uniform, which was supplied by the same Collector that gave me this lovely transporter. Once I put on the accompanying helmet, no one shall be able to tell me apart from any other clodrone ninny out there with a truck. So with the help of the forged paperwork I keep in the cab," he told us, "we shall smuggle you into the Western Dominion of the United North American Empire, with the Collectors being none the wiser."

The drive was a few hours long, but since we had travelled much of the distance already when we were underground, we would arrive at the Western wall before nightfall. We were still several sectors over from the West, and I held my breath each time Erik was forced to stop and present documents proving that he was allowed to travel between sectors. But every time the papers seemed to check out, and the Collectors let him through the gate and onto the next stretch of open road. There had been no suspicious guards, no unexpected delays, and no rebels jumping out of the bushes trying to run us off the road (been there, done that), and everything seemed to be proceeding as planned.

And then we got to the wall.

I got a fairly good look at the wall as we were driving in: it's big, it's pale yellow, and it's crawling with armed Collectors both on top of and around it. None of the Collectors I had seen before had ever carried any weapon other than a knife. They hadn't needed anything else, since they were already so dangerous on their own. The Collectors that patrolled the wall, however, carried guns. Really big ones.

"We're approaching the wall now," Erik told us, "I'll be turning you off on my end so they don't hear you back there. They _might_ check in the back, but they never look very closely, so try not to worry about it." He pressed a button, and then he was offline—we could still see and hear him, but he couldn't communicate with us. Erik jammed on his Collector helmet as we approached the gate, hiding his face just in time.

Hunt and I watched anxiously as the Collector guard addressed him. "Papers, please?" He requested. Erik nodded and handed him the forged documents. The Collector looked over them, bobbed his head approvingly, and then passed them back to Erik. All seemed to be going well.

That is, until I noticed the glint of red coming from the base of Erik's helmet. I looked more closely at the screen, and I nearly freaked. Part of Erik's red hair was sticking out from underneath the helmet. Red hair, when the Collectors all had black. Unable to warn him, unable to stop the guards from seeing it, all I could do was wait and see if the Collector noticed.

And you know, of course, that the Collector noticed. "Wait a minute," he said, eyeing the patch of hair, "take off your helmet."

For a man who was about to be found out, Erik stayed pretty calm about it. "No problem," he replied, reaching up to unfasten his helmet strap. Just as he was about to though, he suddenly brought his fist forward and slammed it into the Collector's visor. This stunned him long enough for Erik to put the pedal to the metal and bust through the gate, which the other Collectors had started to open right before our ruse was uncovered. Bullets littered the truck as we passed through the gate and sped down the road beyond it, but the transporter's thick metal skin held fast. We had made it into the West!

As soon as we had gotten past the gunfire, though, Erik muttered a long string of curses. "They're following us with their own transporters," he told us, not bothering to reconnect his own line so we could reply, "I'll try to lose them long enough for you to hop out of the back—I modified it so that it opens from the inside—but don't jump out too soon or they'll spot you. Not to mention they'll quite possibly turn you into lead casseroles with all those bullets."

"Great," Hunt moaned unhappily, hanging onto the bench for dear life.

"There has to be something we can do to help," I told him, "we can't just sit here!"

"It's not like we have guns of our own, Lex," Hunt reminded me.

But then I remembered, "We don't have guns, but we have supplies! What if we take some of our leftover canned goods and throw them into their windshields?"

"Do you think they're close enough?"

"I don't know." But I could always find out. Wobbling to the back of the transporter with a can of beans in hand, trying hard not to lose my balance as Erik jerked wildly across the road to avoid gunfire, I grabbed hold of the handle and jerked the exit hatch open. I stole a glance outside, and was startled to see how many transporters were following us—at least six, by my count. I guess this was considered a high-level security breach. However, I had little time to peek before I had to retreat from the opening to avoid getting Swiss cheesed by incoming bullets. Man, those Collectors had good aim. I used my foot to swing the hatch shut again, then I turned to Hunt, who was now tying himself to the bench with a rope so he wouldn't get thrown off if (when?) we crashed.

"There's too many!" I told him, spirits sinking, "We're going to get caught."

"Here," he instructed, handing me some rope, "tie yourself down to the bench like I did. Prisoner units aren't crash-friendly, and if we hit something at this speed you don't want to be colliding with one of these metal sides." I did as he said, and then we waited, hoping that by some twist of fate we would avoid capture and/or a slow, painful death.

But after what seemed like either an eternity or mere seconds, the front end of our transporter swerved too far to the left and collided head-on with something big and solid.

_CRASH!_

Even with the rope holding me down to the bench the impact slid me towards the front of the transporter, nearly impaling me on a piece of shrapnel that was sticking out of the wall that separated the cab from the prisoner unit—Oh. I stopped freaking out and became bluntly aware of something: I was on the bench behind the driver's seat. Which meant Erik was sitting directly in front of me. Which meant that if there were pieces of metal going through the wall into the prisoner unit, they had to get through Erik to… oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I scooted away from the metal points jutting through the wall, but even from the other side of the bench I could see they were dripping red. The front cab was gone, practically shoved backwards into the prisoner unit because of the impact, and Erik was gone with it.

And I had a grand total of two seconds to process that entire scenario before the other transporters came barreling into us from both sides.

* * *

Poor Erik. :( He was a chaser, but he had character.

Oh yeah, and Lex and Hunt are still in mortal danger. Hope no one dies. :)


	17. Dead in the Water

**17 – Dead in the Water**

At the last moment I put my head between my knees and covered it with my hands, to shield myself from the deadly impact. There was a loud crash, and the distinct sound of metal buckling under pressure as the walls rippled behind me. Once I was sure I hadn't been hit, I looked up to see if Hunt was okay. He wasn't bleeding, and he hadn't been hit directly by a transporter as far as I could tell; it looked like he had shifted far enough over to avoid the brunt of the crash.

Of course, he wasn't moving either. He just lay there completely limp.

Before I could even react a _third_ transporter hit our vehicle, this time coming at us from behind. Were these guys _trying_ to hit us, I wondered, or were they all just really bad drivers? Unfortunately, there was no time to ponder because I became too preoccupied by the fact that our transporter was now plummeting. Yeah, that's right, plummeting. As in, free-falling? Turns out we had crashed into the support beam of a bridge, and lucky number three hit us hard enough to knock us off the edge and into the water. We must have fell only a few meters (since I actually lived to tell this story), but when we were falling it felt like miles.

The transporter hit the surface of the water with a shattering jolt, the vehicular equivalent of a belly flop into a lake-sized swimming pool. The water landing stunned me shortly, but as the damaged hatch popped open and water began pouring into the back, I regained enough of my senses to untie myself from the bench and waded/swim towards Hunt. I checked his pulse, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive, just unconscious. Of course, with water pouring into the transporter at a rapid rate, that might not stay true for long.

Quickly I began untying Hunt's rope, struggling to keep his head above water as I worked. Finally the rope loosened, and I held him above water as long as I could before the transporter filled with water completely. I knew I would have to act fast—I could breathe underwater, what with me being blessed with the wonderful mutation of gills, but Hunt sure couldn't. I had to get him to the surface as soon as possible, but I had to get far enough from the wreck that the Collectors wouldn't spot us as soon as we stuck our heads above water. So slowly I wriggled through the dark waters, dragging Hunt along with me the best I could. I could see the shore now, which was sheltered by the bridge support so that no one could look down and say, "Hey, there they are!" It was perfect.

_A little farther,_ I urged Hunt silently, _just another minute and we'll be alright. _It seemed like an eternity before we broke the surface—the lake was bigger and deeper than I'd first realized—but when we did I wasted no time in dragging Hunt onto the shore and checking his vitals. When I did, my heart sank. _He's not breathing,_ I realized. _W__hy is he not breathing?_

I tried to remain calm, and think through this rationally. He was breathing when I untied him, so the crash didn't kill him. He must have taken in water while I was dragging him to the surface. I would have chastised myself for not covering his nose and mouth, if not for the fact that I had dropped to my knees and started performing CPR on him. I had just taken a course last year, and even though my mind was quickly turning to mush I still had enough wits about me to remember a thing or two.

_Breathe! _I silently urged him as I formed a seal with his mouth, _breathe you grazefaced idiot, or I'll raise you from the dead just so I can kill you again!_ I tried everything I could think of to bring him back, but he wouldn't revive. I couldn't save him.

Suddenly I became very aware of how little time I had left before someone started investigating the crash and found me with Hunt's body under the bridge. If I was smart, I would leave now before anyone had a chance to catch me. But if I was sentimental, as many people tend to be, I would have a slight problem leaving my dead companion behind. _He's gone! _I told myself, _Go now before they find you! _But I didn't. I couldn't. I was too stunned. I was an innocent; I'd never seen anyone die before my eyes before. And now two people were dead, and it was partly my fault. I couldn't walk away from a dead body and move on. I might as well have been chained to Hunt's lifeless form.

Unable to think, unable to leave, the only response my muddled brain could think of was to scream very loudly at the world's cruelty, and bring my fists down angrily on Hunt's motionless chest with a loud 'thump'. With my luck, I thought cynically, I'd probably knock the water out of his useless lungs so hard that it'd splash me in the face.

Instead, there was a bright flash of light and a sudden tingling in my hands, accompanied by an electrical crackling. I jumped back from the body, and at the same moment Hunt's eyes flew open and he began coughing up water. _What just happened_? I wondered, looking at my fingers in amazement. Had I just _zapped_ him?

Inquiries would have to wait for later, I realized; I had a resurrected escort to attend to. I kneeled next to Hunt and waited for him to cough up the last of the water he'd ingested, holding his hand tightly as a comforting gesture. I wasn't sure whether to laugh with relief or cry because of how scared I'd been. "Are you alright?" I asked him, adding, "You're such a grazeface for worrying me like that!"

Hunt nodded at my first comment, and smiled slightly at my second. "Wh-what happened?" he rasped.

"The transporter crashed off the side of the bridge," I explained to him, "you hit your head and I had to drag you to shore." Then I told him, "Erik… he's gone, Hunt. Dead on first impact."

Hunt's erratic breathing slowly became more even, and he looked up at me with a grim expression on his face that almost looked like a wince. "Welcome to the West," he said hoarsely.

* * *

**Brainworks Online **– **Poets4Share **– **Addy X's Profile – "The Gallery" Collection**

"Captive" by Addy X

_We're outcasts with a prison home_

_They're so bizarre, yet not unknown_

_I'll point the gun, yet won't reload_

_For I'm the jailer, I'm the rogue_

_I hate these halls, the lack of thanks_

_But I could never join their ranks_

_I'm far too jailer to free the weak_

_But still too rogue to brand them freak_

_So keep them captive, yes will I_

_While I'm the captive left outside_

* * *

Aw, now you didn't think I'd kill Hunt that easily, did you? ;) I still have to torture him a little more before I finish him off.


	18. Western Welcome

What's this? A second chapter! :0

…What can I say? I like spoiling my readers. :P

Oh, that reminds me: **lillypad22** asked me in a review how I manage to update so regularly, and I thought I'd share my answer with the class. (Or…readers.) Anyways, the answer is that I update so regularly because I always write my entire story in advance. Granted, there's less of a motivator to work on your story regularly, but there's some real benefits:

You don't keep your readers waiting/post part of a story and then abandon it. (Don't you just hate it when someone posts a great story but never updates it?)

You have a chance to edit/tweak everything before you upload it. It's great for continuity and correctional purposes.

It takes some discipline, but if you can manage it it's a great way to do things. This story took me under five weeks to write, I believe, not counting additional last-minute edits.

Well, in this chapter Lex finally gets a taste of the West! :D And she bites off more than she can chew, if you know what I mean. ;)

* * *

**18 – Western Welcome**

I was worried for Hunt when I had to get him onto his feet and moving right after his near-drowning experience, but we didn't have time to spare. Even as we fled, teems of Collectors were arriving at the bridge and on the lakeshore, eager to sniff us out like bloodhounds. Hunt insisted he was alright, but I knew he was just trying to be strong. Once we were far enough from the crash site, I made him sit down and rest for a while. Outwardly he grumbled about nightfall coming and being spotted by someone, but in his eyes I could see a flicker of relief.

Once I was convinced Hunt was okay to keep going (as okay as he could be without seeing a doctor, anyways), we swiped some drier clothes off of clotheslines in a nearby neighborhood and took to the streets. I had wound up with a stupid-looking outfit, I thought: a bright pink long-sleeve with overly stiff jeans, both just a little too saggy because whoever owned these clothes had curves where I didn't. Not very flattering. Hunt was luckier, I think; his pants actually fit comfortably, and the vivid blue t-shirt he'd nabbed looked good on him. In fact, Mr. Serious even looked—dare I say it—kind of cute in that outfit.

…You know what? Forget I said that last part.

But anyways, now that we could walk the streets without looking like we'd just arrived from scuba-diving class (or, say, a car wreck at the bottom of a lake?), Hunt and I made our way through the crowded city center unnoticed. According to Hunt, we were in one of the lower-class neighborhoods in the West. According to me, how could you tell? The West was amazing: the fresh architecture, the nice clothes and crazy culture quirks I encountered; it was like someone had ripped America out and replaced it with a dreamscape utopia. There weren't even any cars to clog up the roads, since transporters and busses were the only vehicles around anymore. _This is so wrong,_ I thought, remembering what life must be like only a few miles away from here, on the other side of the wall, _but it's so beautiful._

Now that we were (sort of) safely in the West, Hunt explained to me that we would be meeting our contact at the donut shop where he worked. They would exchange passwords, the contact would give Hunt the address of the apartment where I'd be staying, and then we'd be on our way. The donut shop, fortunately, was not far from where we had crashed, and we reached the empty little shop before nightfall.

As we entered the donut shop it wasn't hard to spot our contact—he was the only one in the shop currently, standing behind the cash register. He was tall and skinny, just like Iggy—tall and skinny must be a human-avian trait, I realized. He was also very good-looking, another human-avian trait. I knew from Ella and Iggy that this was the Flock member they called the Gasman, or Gazzy, though I recognized him as Cutie 1 from Becca's drawings. _Another sketch accounted for._ Now, though, the wild-eyed little kid I remembered from the sketches was now standing in front of me, a seemingly mild-mannered man in his twenties.

I was seriously tempted to run up to Gazzy and introduce myself, to ask him all he knew about my parents, but Hunt, of course, would never let me go against policy. "Sit down at that booth while I talk to him," he instructed, "and if you have to stare, at least try to act disinterested." I raised my eyebrows at his slightly patronizing instructions, but I kept my mouth shut and sat down. Hunt was the escort, after all; it was his job to babysit me until I got to my drop-off point. All the pass codes and secret handshakes were up to him, I was just along for the ride.

I watched from the booth as Hunt and Gazzy exchanged words, trying my best not to look overly interested in their conversation. Gazzy kept his expression closely guarded, but as Hunt gave him the passwords I could see the Gasman glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. A flickering glance, a twinkle of curiosity—he was definitely excited to see me.

Without changing his expression or glancing down, the Gasman slid a piece of paper over the counter towards Hunt, who took the paper and placed it in his pocket. At the same time he did this, however, an energetic-looking young woman burst through the door and exclaimed, "Gabe!"

Gazzy flinched slightly, but quickly recovered his composure. "Audrey, hi, what are you—"

"I thought I'd drop in on you at work!" Audrey proclaimed. "It's not like the shop is an exclusive club or anything. Your boss is never around either." Then she took a good look at Hunt, as if just realizing he was there. "Gabe, who's this? You were just talking a moment ago."

"This guy was just asking for directions to that Henley's restaurant," Gazzy covered over flawlessly, "he and his sister are lost and they have dinner reservations in ten minutes."

"Well I'm going that direction, maybe I could help you get there," Audrey offered. Hunt politely declined the offer. "Okay then, if you're sure you'll be alright." She shrugged and then leaned over the counter to talk semi-privately to Gazzy. "I have to go now, but don't forget our date tonight."

"As if I'd forget," the Gasman replied, a lopsided smile crossing his face. Hmmm, apparently Gazzy had a girlfriend.

"I didn't think you would." Audrey grinned excitedly at Gazzy one last time, and then turned to leave. "See you then!" She called back as she went out the front door. She walked down the sidewalk and fell out of eyeshot.

The three of us remaining in the coffee shop exhaled silent breaths of relief. "Thanks for your help," Hunt told Gazzy with a quick nod, before turning and walking towards the door. I guess that was my cue to follow him out. I shot the Gasman a final, friendly glance, and then I accompanied Hunt outside.

When we were a ways away from the coffee shop, Hunt stopped and examined the paper. "The place isn't far from here," he told me, motioning for me to follow him down the street.

The apartment building was only a few blocks away, so we arrived there very quickly. I noted how the apartment—and the entire street—contrasted from the general luster of the West. It wasn't run-down, exactly, just a bit plain-looking. Dull. This was where the poor of the West lived, I assumed; though for most of the rest of the continent, this would have been paradise.

"They're on the second floor," Hunt told me as we walked up the stairs. There was no elevator.

"So you just give them the password, then they'll let us in?" he nodded, and I replied, "Good. It'll be nice to sleep on a real piece of furniture instead of stretching out on a ski lift chair, even if it's just a couch or an air mattress."

"Agreed."

We found the right door, but Hunt insisted I stay around the corner from it while he swapped pass phrases. "If anything goes wrong, you can make a run for it and take off," he told me.

"Are you this careful with all new recruits?" I asked, slightly annoyed that he was being so over-protective.

"No, but not all recruits are the long-lost child of two CSM heroes, now are they?"

After I was hidden out of view, Hunt knocked on the door. There was a stretch of silence, and then finally the door opened. "Yes, can I help you?" a woman's voice asked.

"I have a delivery for a Miss Monique Washington," Hunt declared.

"I'm Ms. Washington," the woman said in a low, careful voice, "are you here with the parakeet I ordered? They're so hard to find this time of year."

"No, but I do have a hatchling, and it's of a very rare variety."

Another pause. Then the woman asked, using a voice not much louder than a whisper, "Where are they? And is it a boy or a girl?"

"A girl," Hunt replied quietly, "and she's just around the corner." He raised his voice again. "Lex, you can come out now."

I stepped out from around the corner and watched as the woman, a beautiful African-American lady who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, lit up with excitement and amazement as she marveled at my existence. "Come in quickly," she murmured, opening the door for me and Hunt.

I realized that this woman was Nudge, or 'Supermodel' if you were going by Becca's terms, and she was the third youngest of the Flock. In Becca's pictures she was always smiley and cheerful, and now was no exception to that trend. I found myself smothered in a strong, excited hug, as Nudge exclaimed, "I still can't believe you're here, or that you're real! We had all sorts of theories about where Max and Fang went to when they vanished, but I never would have thought…" she continued to chatter excitedly, and I couldn't help but grin and hug her back. Yet another member of my parents' long-lost family that I knew immediately I was going to like.

Unfortunately, Nudge's enthusiastic greeting came to an abrupt halt when another, sharper female voice filled the air, cutting through the room like a knife. "You've arrived."

I let go of Nudge and then turned and looked to see who it was. My mouth almost dropped. Standing in front of me was no doubt the most beautiful, most frightening woman I had ever seen. She was about Nudge's height, which I guessed to be around 5'10, and she had stunningly blonde hair and piercing eyes, with a slender but curvy frame accompanied by perfect angles. And she wasn't the weird, overdone sort of beautiful that movie stars in their thirties were, with botox and makeup and surgery—she looked fresh and youthful, appearing not much older than a teenager, even though she must have been at least in her mid-twenties.

It wasn't hard to see the resemblance between her and Gazzy, which meant she was the Cutie 2 to match Gazzy's Cutie 1, but it was obvious that the title was now far from fitting. The person who had once been an adorable little girl was now so beautiful it was intimidating. She was Angel; an angel of war, I mused.

I was about to step forward to greet her and introduce myself, but when her eyes met mine I found myself frozen in place. Neither did Nudge and Mr. "I'm-only-in-love-with-the-CSM" Hunt didn't move a muscle. Instead, we waited, watching intently as Angel strode towards me. She stopped approaching when she was about a meter away, standing directly in front of me and looking me over closely. I was being examined, I thought, judged to see if I met her expectations.

"You look like them," Angel said at last. I nodded slightly in response. "Do you know where they are?"

Finally I found my voice again and replied, "No, Max left me with another couple when I was a baby. They raised me."

A slight crease formed in Angel's face, the slightest hint of an amused smile. "Ah, so you've been abandoned too. Max does that," she told me, "though I think I'm winning."

"Winning?" I asked, a bit confused.

Angel grinned, the tiniest bit of superiority shining through. "Max kept me longer. I had her for ten years—_and_ she actually raised me. Call me your older, better-looking adoptive sister." I felt a knot form in my stomach as she stood over me with a distinct air of condescension and displeasure. "It makes you wonder who she loved more." I was only three inches shorter than her, but at that moment I felt two feet tall.

Just then Nudge stepped between us, telling Angel, "don't be cruel, Ang. I'm sure Max would have kept her if she'd been able to." She looked at me apologetically.

Angel broke her gaze, and gave Nudge the slightest scowl before eying me one more time. "Whatever." Then she strode away, going through a door that led to the back part of the apartment.

"Sorry about Angel," Nudge told me after she was gone, "she gets…well, she's not really a people person."

"Really now," Hunt commented sarcastically, "I never would have guessed."

Nudge ignored the comment, and instead tried to make us feel more at home. "Now, why don't we sit down on the couch and you can tell me all about yourself," she suggested, sitting on the rickety mass of tweed pushed against the wall that was supposedly a couch.

Hunt and I joined her in sitting, and then I asked, "Shouldn't we wait until the Gasman gets home and Angel is… in a better mood?"

"Gazzy can hear it when he gets here," Nudge replied, "And as for Angel, I wouldn't worry. She'll find out your story whether you want her to or not." She smiled an uneasy smile. "Angel has a way of getting into people's heads." …_That_ didn't sound slightly creepy.


	19. Powers at Work

Basically this chapter title is one big wordplay. There are two types of powers at work in this chapter. 0:)

* * *

**19 – Powers at Work**

Becca's sleep that first (and only) night in the hotel wasn't peaceful, but it was regular enough. She was having her dreams again; the dreams that were full of scenes and emotions that filled her head and pulled her into a fantasy world so alive it felt real, and then slipped out of her head in the morning, leaving nothing but a few scattered images and an empty forgetfulness. It was as if the Flock was somehow channeling their life story into her mind when she was sleeping, and then withdrawing it when she opened her eyes. _Maybe I'm a mutant after all,_ Becca had often thought to herself, _how else do I see the things I see?_

That night, however, knowing whether or not she was mutant wouldn't have done her any good. Early in the morning, while she was still dreaming, Becca felt a strong set of hands grab her and drag her out of bed. Immediately her eyes flew open and she tried to scream, but she found her cries to be silenced by a strip of duct tape. Her captor, obviously a man, dragged her across the room in the dark and sat her in a chair, holding her down in her seat from behind.

Desperately Becca tried squirming away from her captor's grip, but it was pointless. She stopped moving around when a bright lamp suddenly shone in her face. "Stop struggling," a man with a Chinese accent instructed in English. Once Becca's eyes adjusted, she was _almost_ able to see what was going on. There were at least three men in her room, she was sure of that. One holding the lamp, one holding her in the chair, and one talking to her.

The third one, the talking man, moved in and out of the lamp beam enough that she could sort of make out his features in the blinding light. He was Chinese and had a well-trimmed moustache, and he carried himself like an important official. He was tall; almost unnaturally tall for an Asian person. Perhaps he'd had surgery to lengthen his legs, as was common in China these days.

Someone removed the duct tape from Becca's mouth so she could speak. "What's going on!" she demanded almost hysterically, panic rising up in her chest.

The official-looking man looked down at her, a shadowy expression on his face that almost looked like a scowl. "Why are you here in China?" He questioned.

Initially Becca was unsure how to respond. Why were the Chinese interested in _her?_ "I came here to meet up with my dad," she finally told them.

"What is your father's name? What is he doing here?" he asked sternly.

Ah, that's what this was about: her dad and his shady past. Becca recalled her father's journal mentioning problems with the Chinese government. But did they know that she knew? "My father's name is Roger Thomson," Becca told the official, "and he's here on a business trip for his advertising company—"

The official suddenly backhanded her across the face, causing her cheek to burn and her eyes to blur with tears. "You lie!" his voice raised, "Your father is Jebediah Batchelder, and he is here because of Maximum Ride!" He leaned forward, his face coming within inches of Becca's. "You will tell the truth."

Taking a few quick breaths to settle her rattled nerves, Becca blinked back the tears in her eyes and relented, "Alright, alright, his name is Jeb Batchelder; at least, I think that's his real name."

"Why is he here?" the official pressed.

"I-I don't know for sure," Becca insisted, fearing she might cry, "I thought it had something to do with me, but I don't know what he's doing exactly. He said something about the old Itex building near here."

"I see." The official gave a quick nod to the man holding Becca down, and he lifted her by the arms onto her feet. "Take her down to the van," he instructed his men in Mandarin, "we will keep her for further questioning and as bait for her father. He will not resist arrest if he knows we have his daughter in custody. Collect her belongings." Then they took Becca from the hotel, whisking her away into the night as if she had never been there.

* * *

"That's an amazing story," Nudge told me after I'd explained everything to her. She smiled at me and added, "And we'd be honored to have you on our intel team. We'll have to keep you on out of sight for now, until we can get you and Hunt papers so you can live here legally and Hunt can go home, but that shouldn't be a problem. The only window in this place is in the back bedroom."

"I'm glad," I told her, not bothering to bring up Angel's opinion on my staying here. We both knew I'd be hard-pressed to gain her approval. "When can I start?"

"Well, the plug is right there," Nudge said, pointing to the odd-looking computer that sat on a desk pushed up against the wall. "Why don't you start poking around and get acquainted with it? Don't touch the files, but feel free to surf the 'Works for a while. It's the brain-shaped icon on the desktop."

"Alright, thanks," I told her, sitting down at the computer. It seemed straight-forward enough: there was a how-to file in the program showing me how to use the Brainworks, so figuring out the network wasn't hard. It worked differently than the internet, having a unique system of web addresses and an altered format, but nothing too complicated. Hunt watched me as I toyed around with it, pointing things out to me and offering advice from time to time.

"You sound like you know how to use these things," I remarked. "I thought you'd never been to the West before this."

"I haven't," Hunt confirmed, "but that doesn't stop a guy from picking up a bit of knowledge here and there."

"Sure,"' I replied, not really paying attention. The Brainworks was an amazing system, and I was drawn by the complex combination of technology and neurology buzzing at my fingertips. I was slightly puzzled by the feeling, by the _pulling_ sensation it almost had…

And then I was taken in.

* * *

Once Lex and Hunt were distracted by the plug in the living room, Nudge retreated to the kitchen, where Angel was sitting at the rickety old table. "Lex has a pretty amazing story," she commented, causing Angel to turn her head in Nudge's direction. Even though she had been hiding in here, Nudge knew Angel had been listening in with her mind.

"I suppose," Angel replied, still obviously uncomfortable with Lex's arrival.

Sitting down next to her, Nudge tried to console her. "Look, I know it will take some adjusting, having a new person around—"

"She can't honestly expect to show up here and automatically become part of the family," Angel interjected, "she's a total stranger. She doesn't belong."

Nudge sighed. Angel could be like a little kid when she was displeased with something. "It will take some time to get used to having her here, but she could be a big help to our mission. We all want to find Max, Ang, and Lex has as much of a reason to search as the rest of us."

"She doesn't belong," Angel repeated. After a pause, she added with frustration, "I'm tired of waiting around for bits of data to travel down to us. We're some of the CSM's most valuable agents, and they have us here on petty intel duty like common humans. We should be out checking leads, like that data on the Gallery we found last month."

Nudge reminded her, "We don't even know what the Gallery is, Angel. It's just a name that came up in a few emails and memos."

"But it's obviously something!" Angel insisted, "You don't give something in a private memo a mysterious codename like 'the Gallery' unless it's important!" She threw her hands up and lamented, "I'm sick of playing by everyone's rules, Nudge! I could take over the entire empire in a day if the CSM let me!"

"Angel," Nudge reminded her, "you're powerful, but you're not omnipotent. You need us, and you need the rest of the CSM. We'll get our chance to take down the Supremacy, but we need to be patient—"

"Patience has gotten us nowhere for the last sixteen years, Nudge!" Angel grumbled, "Patience is for the weak. I'm tired of waiting for Ella to get enough courage to do something—"

"Is this what this is about, Angel?" Now it was Nudge's turn to interrupt. "Is this because you're still upset that Ella's the leader instead of one of us?"

Angel scowled. "You know how I feel about her, Nudge. Never leave a human to do a mutant's job."

"Ella's human, yeah, and she's cautious, but she's smart," Nudge defended, "She knows what she's doing."

"She's too scared to take action."

"She's trying to protect the millions of people that depend on her leadership by proceeding carefully. If we go about this right, we can take the Supremacy down without a huge loss of life."

"A few lives are less important than the greater good."

"The ends never justify the means, Angel," Nudge warned, "Those millions of lives aren't ours to lay down for the cause." Angel and Nudge glared at each other frigidly, both having run out of things to say.

Their silent clash was interrupted, however, when Hunt suddenly cried out, "Lex!"

Immediately Nudge and Angel rushed back into the living room, and they were horrified to discover Lex frozen in front of the computer, her eyes closed and her face focused on something the rest of them were unaware of. The scariest part of all though, was the arc of blue electricity that was bridged between Lex's hands and the plug. Everyone was both terrified and astounded by what they saw. Was the plug electrocuting her, or was _she_ somehow electrocuting _it?_ Hunt watched what was going on with wide eyes, trying to process what was happening.

"What's going on!" Nudge cried.

"I don't know," Hunt answered, still a bit stunned. Less than a second later, though, an idea crossed his expression and he lunged forward, knocking Lex away from the plug and onto the floor. The flow of electricity stopped abruptly. Lex's eyes flew open as she hit the wooden floor hard, Hunt tumbling next to her with a thud. Both of them grunted in pain when they hit the floor, and both of them were breathing faster than usual.

"What just happened?" Hunt asked calmly but worriedly, looking to Lex for an answer.

"I'm not sure…" Lex replied, standing up slowly. "Why did you push me over?"

"It looked like you were being fried alive by the plug," Nudge remarked, "There were electrical bolts flowing between you and it, and you were in some sort of trance—"

"What did you see?" Angel suddenly interjected.

"What?" Everyone else asked.

"I know what you saw when you went into the trance, Lex," Angel announced, "I can read your mind."

"Um, alright," Lex answered, "that's… nice." For the rest of the non-mind-reading audience, she explained, "I was using the computer, just like you said I could, when I felt this weird connection. A sort of flow, I guess. And then… I was part of the Brainworks. I could sift through the data as easily as I can walk on two feet. How long was I out?" Lex asked.

"About five seconds," Hunt informed her.

Lex's brow creased thoughtfully. "It felt longer than that," she murmured.

"Is this some sort of power you have?" Nudge asked.

"Not one that I know of."

"So nothing like that has ever happened to you before?"

"No…" but then Lex said, "Wait, you said that electricity was running between me and the plug?"

"Right."

"Well," she told them, "when the transporter crashed into the lake, and Hunt wouldn't wake up, I sort of… I sort of zapped him, I guess. There was this bright flash, and my hands tingled." Lex looked down at her hands thoughtfully. "Just like they're tingling now."

"So you can produce electricity and send electrical signals?" Angel asked.

"If she can access the Brainworks," Nudge speculated, "then she must be able to send neural signals too."

"I guess the transporter crash triggered a new power in me," Lex remarked, staring at her hands again. After a few seconds, she stepped in front of the plug and tentatively extended her hands towards it. "I want to try it again," she announced determinedly. "Is there anything you want me to look for?"

"The Gallery," Angel piped up, eying Nudge purposely, "it's the codename for a secret Supremacy facility. Try to find out its coordinates." Nudge frowned, but nodded in agreement.

"Alright then," Lex answered, closing her eyes to focus. After a couple of seconds the electricity began to flow again, passing from her hands to the plug and back. A few more seconds later… "I found it." Lex announced, opening her eyes and ending the connection.

"You found the Gallery's location?" Angel asked, looking pleased.

Lex nodded. "I don't understand how the coordinates work in the Cutoff zone, but if you could explain them we'd—" she was cut off by the door suddenly being flung open, a frazzled-looking Gasman bursting into the room.

"It's about time," Nudge remarked, "where were you—woah, Gazzy, what happened?"

The Gasman was beat up and bruised, his clothes disheveled and blood trickling from a small gash on his forehead. "Audrey," he croaked with a dry throat, "she's in a network of bounty hunters sent into the neighborhood to flush the CSM out. She had me tied in the basement, but I broke free while she was calling the Collectors—"

"How long until they arrive?" Nudge asked, her eyes narrowing and her jaw clenching anxiously.

Gazzy shook his head grimly. "Maybe five minutes."

* * *

And that, boys and girls, is why you shouldn't start dating until you're at least forty. Because, you know, there's way too many young people out there who want to sell you out to the government. Learn from Gazzy's mistake; don't risk dating a bounty hunter. *nods*


	20. Gallery Quest

**20 – Gallery Quest**

An hour later, we had relocated to the roof of another apartment building across town. We were cold, we were shaken up by the escape (at least I was), and we had almost no supplies.

And Angel wasn't here.

"It's my fault," Gazzy grumbled as he opened a can of soup, "I should have listened to you when you warned me about Audrey, Nudge."

Nudge just shook her head. "Don't be so hard on yourself Gazzy. How were you supposed to know that your girlfriend would bash you over the head and lock you in the basement? Bounty hunters," she scoffed, "Some of them have less humanity in them than we do."

We had all been in a big scramble to get going after Gazzy's arrival. There hadn't been much in the way of food or supplies in the house, but Hunt and I packed what we could while Nudge and Gazzy destroyed any evidence of their CSM ties. We couldn't leave anything behind that would lead them back to Ella and the others.

By the time we were prying open the bedroom window and slipping onto the fire escape, the Collectors had already broken down the front door. We hadn't moved fast enough, and now they were going to get us.

But then Angel had whispered, "Keep going, I'll distract them!" and then she ran into the front room. This was followed by several harsh cries of things like, 'hands up!' and 'you are under arrest!'. Gazzy wanted to go after her, to rush to Angel's aid, but Nudge grabbed him firmly by the arm and led him out the window. It was too late, she was telling him.

We all began climbing the fire escape, but instead of going down we went up. The Collectors, for all their training, would be expecting us to climb down to the ground and try to make a run for it. They didn't know that three out of four of us had wings.

So Gazzy and Nudge had air lifted Hunt off the roof and flew to safety, with me following behind them. We had landed on this apartment rooftop a couple hours away and set up 'camp' so to speak, and now we were eating canned goods and trying to process what had just happened._ So much for finding my parents, _I thought to myself glumly.

"I just can't believe Angel did that," Gazzy exclaimed, amazed by his sister's sacrifice.

"Angel has a good heart, Gazzy," Nudge insisted, "She'd do anything to keep her family safe."

The Gasman smiled sadly. "Nudge, I'm her brother and even I'm not sure I believe that anymore. But that's not all," he insisted, "Why didn't she escape? She could have brainwashed those goons in a heartbeat."

"I don't know," Nudge admitted, "unless they had tranquilizer guns or something like that."

"Maybe."

"I wish I could thank her somehow," I tell them, "I mean, what she did back there was… I guess I misjudged her, that's all." I suddenly felt stupid for getting all tongue-tied and wished I had kept my mouth shut.

"Angel's not the most stranger-friendly gal, hun," Nudge said, putting her arm around me, "but give her some slack. She's jealous of you, you know."

"Why?" I asked. Why would blonde, beautiful Angel be jealous of a plain-Jane teenage kid like me?

"Angel's used to being Max's baby, and now she feels threatened by your arrival. She feels replaced, in a way."

"That's stupid," I remarked, "It's not like Max was ever a mother to me anyways." Angel had had a point earlier; she really was on top in the 'mother Max' department. She made me feel out of place, like an outcast. An intruder.

Hunt reminded me, "But she gave you up for your own safety."

_Is that supposed to make me miss knowing her any less?_ I added silently. Legitimate justification didn't make the abandonment un-hurtful.

"Look," Nudge insisted, "it doesn't matter who raised who for how long. Max is every bit your mother as she is Angel's, if not more. You're a part of this family, and we'll always be here for you." She gave me an affectionate squeeze and said, "You're never alone Lex, remember that."

Despite our grim situation I felt my heart warm a little, and a trace of a smile crept onto my face. "Thanks," I told her.

Gazzy grinned, "When did you get so insightful and matronly, Nudge?"

"It happened when I turned thirty," she replied, "when some of my talk power turned into brain power."

"So," Hunt said, switching topics, "what's our plan now? It's obvious that I'm not getting back to the farm anytime soon, and without a computer we're pretty much cut off from the CSM. Unless you guys have a contact nearby."

"We don't," Gazzy admitted, "so you're right, we're stuck."

Just then an idea popped into my head. "What about the Gallery? Those coordinates Angel had me look for. What can you tell me about it?"

"Not much," Nudge informed me, "all we know is that it's some sort of top secret facility somewhere in the mountains. Details are sketchy."

As Nudge was saying these things Gazzy caught on to what I was suggesting. "We should go look for the Gallery," he said, "If Lex knows the coordinates, then it should be a breeze."

A concerned expression creased Nudge's face. "I don't know if that's a good idea… it might not be safe."

"None of us came West to stay safe," I stated matter-of-factly.

"Lex is right," Hunt asserted, "besides, what else can we do? We can either sit around and wait to be captured, or we can act on what we know."

"C'mon, Nudge," Gazzy jabbed, his eyes gleaming like those of an excited child, "think of it: an actual adventure for once!"

We all looked to Nudge with pleading eyes, and after a bit more silent consideration she finally relented. "Fine," she sighed, causing the rest of us to mutter excitedly under our breaths, "but let's sort this out tomorrow. I'm tired, and we'll need all the rest we can get."

"We should take turns looking out," I announced, "in case someone comes searching for us. I'll take first watch—for say, two hours?" Everyone nodded approvingly.

"I'll go second!" Gazzy dibs'd.

Hunt declared, "I'll take third watch."

"I guess that leaves me with the last watch," Nudge announced, her face reflecting an amused sense of déjà vu. "Some things really are genetic," she murmured to herself as she pulled a blanket out of her backpack.

* * *

Becca had been in the cell for about two days now, she guessed. It was hard to tell, since her confinement was in a basement with no windows. The guard never even turned the lights out at night. It was a little like Hell; there was no refuge or passing time, just discomforting light and suffering. Well, perhaps 'suffering' was a bit strong of a word, Becca supposed. Being a prisoner of the Chinese government wasn't _so_ bad. It's not like they'd beaten her or anything like that.

Sometimes the guard took Becca out of her cell for questioning, leading her firmly by the arm up the stairs to a stereotypical interrogation room, where the official-looking man who had been responsible for her arrest—Mr. Lang, the guard called him—asked her about her dad and about the belongings they had taken from her hotel room.

As much as Becca wished she was full of spunk and coyness like spies in the movies were, she knew that she was no secret agent and that hiding information would only get her into deeper trouble. So she told them everything: her father's journal, the drawings, the visions, following her dad to Beijing. The only thing she didn't tell them about was Lex or the Hardlys. No matter what they did to her, she wouldn't sell them out.

If they noticed that she was holding back on that point, or they saw that she wore Maximum Ride's wedding ring around her neck, they didn't let on. And, now that the initial buzz of the hostage-taking had died down, Mr. Lang seemed to be getting bored with her. He began leaving her in her cell for longer and longer stretches of time. Eventually, the interrogations ceased completely.

A while later (had it been a few days, a few hours?) Mr. Lang came downstairs and handed Becca some writing supplies and her father's journal. "You will decode this book," he told her firmly.

_What, there's no one in your department that's smarter than a teenage girl?_ "The remaining pages are difficult," Becca said, "I decoded some of the other ones, but the ones left over might be too hard for me."

Mr. Lang glared at her. "You will decode this book," he repeated sternly. Then he turned and went back upstairs.

And that was that. When Becca wasn't sleeping or drawing (thank goodness she had been given so much extra paper; there were visions crawling around her head like a thousand tiny spiders) she stared blankly at her father's enigma of a journal, trying to find a pattern in the jumble of symbols and numbers that were scrawled all over the pages. It was like a wall of code: too big to climb, too wide to go around, too thick to penetrate.

She drew another version of the picture of Max and her father. As with the last one, the range of vision had been expanded so you could see more of the scene. Becca could see Max's body up to her waist, and saw that she was wearing a white tank top. Her dad, Jeb, was still frozen in the same position as before, attaching wires to her temple and the base of her neck. Most of the other details were irrelevant, except that on the edge and corner opposite to Max she could now see an entire computer screen, which was sitting on a desk. There was a read-out on it, but Becca could only make out of a few words like 'levels' and 'transmission', the kinds of things you'd expect to see on a read-out like that. The rest of the screen had been blurred by her mind. So basically, Becca was still stumped.

_What did you do to her, Dad?_ Becca questioned as she studied the picture, like so many times before. She grasped Max's ring in between her fingers, a nervous habit she'd developed over the last few days. _Did you really kill her?_

Soon the picture became the least of her problems, unfortunately. Mr. Lang was getting impatient with her father. "There has been no word from our man yet," He lamented in Mandarin to Becca's guard when he thought Becca was sleeping. "I am tired of playing babysitter for Jeb Batchelder while he traipses around the country, doing who knows what!"

"What about the Itex facility?" the guard asked.

"The building is as abandoned as ever," Mr. Lang scoffed, "as if we would leave such a place un-watched all this time."

"So what will you do?"

"If Batchelder refuses to show his face to save even his daughter, then the girl is of no use to us. I'll give him until the end of week, and if he doesn't turn himself in, the girl will pay the price." After saying this, Mr. Lang had trudged up the stairs in a huff.

After hearing that, something changed inside of Becca. She began drawing dark, disturbing pictures, maybe worse than she'd ever drawn before. Gruesome deaths, grotesque mutations, twisted imaginings and perceptions that were so shady and surreal that Becca hoped they weren't real. _But they are real. Nothing has ever been more real to me._ Something was waking up inside of her, and it was starting to force its way out.

Slowly but surely, Becca began making breakthroughs on her father's journal, but she didn't let on to anybody. No, she couldn't let on. If Mr. Lang found out what was hidden in these pages… well, Becca's discoveries were already enough to make her want to scream, sob, and throw up all at once, but if Mr. Lang discovered what her father had written, her world was over.

_Who am I kidding? _Becca thought to herself cynically, _My world is already over. It ended the day Lex left._ But she still couldn't let anyone find out the truth. If they knew what her father had done—to Max, to Becca—then they would kill her, and she didn't want to die. Because, if everything Becca had read was true, if she could escape and find a way to the Itex building, she could make the visions stop. Forever. And she could save Maximum Ride.

* * *

**Brainworks Online **– **Poets4Share **– **Addy X's Profile – "The Gallery" Collection**

"Mounted Blackbird" by Addy X

_Blackbird mounted in the gallery hall_

_Inlaid display sealed in the wall_

_Dark eyes glaring back at me_

_Tell me blackbird,_

_What do you see?_

_Do you hate my human face?_

_Do you loathe this awful place?_

_Blame your shooters, _

_Don't blame me_

_Why now, blackbird,_

_Don't you cry?_

_If you're abandoned,_

_What am I?_

* * *

Yes, tension is rising on both sides of the ocean. Becca's hatching a plan, and Lex and the others are slowly getting closer to the Gallery. But don't let your guard down; I foresee a dead body in the near future. }:D


	21. The Gallery

Ahhhh! *sob* I can't believe this! It's been, what, a week since I updated? *headdesk* My apologies, loyal readers. I officially had the busiest week ever—my school work and weekend plans ate my update days alive! (I could hear them screaming in agony as my day planner mauled them to death :'( Such a tragedy.)

So now I'm gonna try to post all the chapters I was supposed to post earlier; that is, if my parents don't run me off the computer. :/

* * *

**21 – The Gallery**

The next morning Nudge woke us up and handed us each a couple cans of soup to start the day off. Ah, the joys of being a wanted fugitive. "Now, Lex," Nudge told me, "I think it's high time you gave us those coordinates." I rattled off the string of numbers, which were still burned into my memory, and she nodded. "That's only a few hours away by air," she declared.

"By air?" Hunt asked uncomfortably. I suppose being manhandled in the sky for several hours wouldn't be a very pleasant mode of transportation.

"Unless you plan on walking," Nudge told him, "you'd better just shut up and enjoy the view." She winked at me jokingly, and I stifled a giggle as Hunt tried to hide his displeasure at the thought of being dangled in the air for that long. We had a little compassion on him, though: Gazzy used some twine and a blanket to fashion a sort of sling for Hunt to sit in, designed to be suspended by two human-avians. It made flying easier for both the carriers and the passenger, so we all won.

We made pretty good time once we got going. The three of us with wings took turns carrying the sling to distribute work evenly, so it wasn't too hard transporting Hunt. Resting was kept to a minimum, but we did have to stop a few times to refuel and use the facilities. We avoided detection by landing in alleys and in clumps of trees. And, since the sky was empty—there weren't any airplanes in the empire, I found out, and helicopters were seldom used—we were able to soar unnoticed by the multitudes below.

It was late afternoon when we finally came across the Gallery, nestled high in the rocks. Gazzy and Nudge were both familiar with navigating using empirical coordinates, and that combined with their natural sense of direction made it a breeze for them to find the place. Still, it was a few seconds before I spotted the large, beige-brown building; the color blended in with the mountains almost seamlessly. "I see it," I announced, descending slowly towards the roof. Nudge and Gazzy followed, carrying Hunt in tow.

To my surprise, I encountered no booby traps or security measures when I landed on the ground. No Collectors, no laser trip wires, nothing. "That's odd," I thought aloud. "There's no one guarding the Gallery? This is too easy."

"No it's not," Nudge called to me. I turned and saw that she had already approached the door. "Just take a look at this security system." We all gathered around Nudge as she pointed to the computer screen and keyboard that was inset into the wall, trying to keep up with her technical nattering. "…old tech, as far as I can tell, but it's blended with Brainworks format so seamlessly that it's almost impenetrable. Not even my magnetism is messing with the signal, and I'm not picking up any feelings or passwords, which makes me think the entire system is coated with some sort of protective agent…" and on it went.

"So what are you saying?" Gazzy finally cut in.

"I don't think I can hack this system," Nudge admitted. "Whatever's in this place, it must be a big deal. They tried to remove the human error factor as much as they could by using camouflage, isolation, and advanced computer technology as their defenses rather than brute force."

"Oh."

"Um, have we already forgotten about Lex?" Hunt reminded them, "Maybe she can hack it."

Everyone turned to me. "Well, Lex?" Nudge asked. "Can you get into their system?"

"I guess I can try," I replied, unsure of myself, "but I'm still new to this whole computer-zapping power."

Gazzy chuckled. "You need a better name for your power, Lex. Interfacing with computers… wouldn't that be technopathy?"

I shrugged, and then stepped towards the computer screen. Once again I stretched my hands out and focused on the computer, and once again I was drawn into the system. This network had a different feel to it, I noticed—more contained, more structured. I wasn't sure if that was because it wasn't a neural network like the Brainworks or because it was a closed circuit.

Before I could explore the network further, however, I felt an alarm trigger—I didn't hear it or see it, exactly, since the virtual world was made of codes rather than images—warning me that something was aware of the interference. Someone's going to know about me, I thought, picking up my pace.

I skittered throughout cyberspace, looking for a code that would open the door to the Gallery. The triggered alarm was a pressing presence, a presence that only grew more and more distracting as I tried to function. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain form in my head—my head was the only part of my body that I was really aware of when I was in a trance. I knew immediately what it was: it was anti-virus software, as the flashing detection alerts indicated. Why on earth the Gallery had anti-virus software is beyond me.

Finally I found the program controlling the doors in the Gallery, and I commanded all of them to unlock. Everything was spinning now, the anti-virus program worming its way into my brain. If I'm like a human computer virus, I wondered, does that mean I can be killed by anti-virus programs? I didn't stop to ponder this notion; instead, I triggered a systems failure in the Gallery and then pulled out of the network, my legs collapsing beneath me as I returned to the physical world. Gazzy stepped forward and caught me, holding me upright until I could regain my balance. "Did the door open?" I slurred, codes and numbers still channeling in my mind.

"Yeah," he replied, letting go of me. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I insisted, trying my best to bring my dizzy world to a halt, "the security software just caught me off-guard." Everyone looked at me with concern, but once I was steady on my feet we filed through the gaping door and into the darkened hallways.

"What did you do to this place?" Nudge asked. "I can't see a thing."

"I triggered a systems failure," I told her. "Basically, I shut down everything except the emergency power."

"Aren't emergency power sources usually for back-up lights?" Hunt asked, sounding suspicious. "Why is it still dark in here?"

"I hear humming," Nudge pointed out, "There must be something else running in the building."

Whatever it was, we sure couldn't see it. The hallway directly connected to the front door had been bare, and as we wandered deeper into the Gallery labyrinth, the world only seemed to get darker and darker. I quietly hoped someone would turn some lights on soon. It was better to have our enemies see us and vice versa than for us to not see anything at all.

Just then I heard a sound: some sort of squeaky, grating noise, like the sound of something being wheeled across the floor. "Did you guys hear something?" I asked.

"No," they all replied.

"Oh. Maybe it was just someone's shoe scraping against the tile," I rationalized. Or maybe my mind was playing tricks on me because of the darkness. Before I could take another step however, I felt something prick me in the side, causing me to draw a quick breath and jerk violently. _What was that!_ I screamed inwardly, reaching up and feeling for any abnormalities.

"Guys," I told them in a calm voice, "I just felt a sharp pain in my side." And then lights flooded the hall, blaring alarms came to life in my ears, and the world came crashing down on my head.

* * *

**Brainworks Online **– **Poets4Share **– **Addy X's Profile – "The Gallery" Collection**

"Prisoner" by Addy X

_He's in a dungeon all alone,_

_No one left to call his own_

_He thinks that now he'll never know_

_If what he guessed so long ago—_

_That he dares not repeat, not ever, no_

—_Came to be and came to grow_

_Because she ran away,_

_And he lives the silence now called home_

"_But look now," I tell him, "Just who is that face?_

"_Prison breakers? Yes, it's true!_

"_And it gets stranger all the time:_

"_The one who beat down the door,_

"_The one I've just captured,_

"_Is a fledgling girl_

"_That looks just like you!"_

"_Was this why your lover fled?_

"_Young life to replace the dead,_

"_Is this the thought that's haunted you?"_

_And now his fledgling's a prisoner too_

* * *

Oh dear, it seems the person that has Fang has apprehended Lex too. :( So sad.

On a different note, do you know what I've always had a hang-up on? Oxygenated suspension gel. I mean seriously, it always finds its way into my stories. Like in _Invidia: The Unwind Experiment_, the clone bodies are kept in suspension gel so they don't deteriorate, and even in this story suspension liquid makes a big appearance in the Citadel. I've also written an original story or two featuring the stuff. Why? I dunno, maybe because when your hero's being held hostage it's easier to free them when their muscles haven't atrophied and they're in excellent physical condition? Oh, and it's great for storing organs; in _Unwind_ by Neal Shusterman, they used an oxygenated solution during the infamous chapter sixty-one surgery. *snickers* Anyone who's read my _Invidia_ story knows plenty about that chapter. _The Adoration of Jenna Fox_ was another story involving organ-preserving substances, and even though I wasn't the biggest fan of the book I liked the bio-gel.

So… suspension gel. It's a great sci-fi plot device. Not that you really care right now, since you're probably all sharpening your pitchforks to come and kill me. :/ I really need the keys to my reviewer-proof shelter back…


	22. Fallen Angel

Voila! Another chapter. Again, my apologies for falling behind on updates. :/ Word of advice to my homeschooling audience: if you're doing a self-paced social studies course, don't save three weeks' worth of assignments until the last minute—especially if one of those assignments is an essay. Seriously, it'll consume your time like a thousand rabid weasels.

* * *

**22 – Fallen Angel**

Sometimes even the seemingly most selfless sacrifices have ulterior motives.

It wasn't that Angel couldn't escape the Collectors—they were bred to be unimaginative and easily manipulated, clearly a lower life form compared to her—but that she didn't _want_ to escape. Lex's arrival, the conversation she'd had with Nudge in kitchen, and her time working intel collection duty in the West had gotten her thinking. She could spend months, years even, hiding in the shadows and snatching bits of data here and there, hoping and waiting for change, without ever getting any closer to finding Max and Fang. The CSM functioned like a bunch of lowly rats, nipping at the ankles of their enemies, breeding and spreading like an epidemic but never inflicting serious damage. What the empire really needed were a few clever birds that could attack the enemy in the head, where it counted.

Of course, the first few hours following her capture were less than pleasant. Collectors were never very enjoyable jailers and interrogators, but the fact that she was a mutant made them hate her even more. _They feel threatened in the presence of a superior being,_ Angel told herself. So many times she wished she could override their feeble neural patterns and force them to treat her kindly, but she held back. She needed to catch everyone by surprise later.

Finally they got down to the bottom line Angel had been waiting for, and a Collector interrogator growled at her, "Look, mutant, don't make this harder than it needs to be. Just tell us the names and addresses of all of your contacts and we'll make sure you get processed peacefully."

"Alright," Angel replied plainly. She made no point in trying to resist.

The Collector raised his eyebrows, perplexed by her willingness to cooperate. "Really?" he asked incredulously.

"Sure. Get me a pencil and some paper and I'll write some names down." The Collector did just that, and he watched Angel suspiciously as she jotted down the names and locations of about a dozen of her CSM colleagues. "This should be enough for you to start on," she announced, sliding the paper across the table, "Tell me what your men find."

Confused and distrustful of her behavior, the Collectors had locked her away in a cell for the time being. This was too easy, they were all thinking to themselves. Why would a CSM operative, a mutant no less, just give up the identities and locations of her comrades at the mere asking? However, when every single one of the names that Angel gave them checked out and arrests were made, they weren't about to complain.

Angel was brought back to the interrogation room for further questioning a day later. "All of your info was accurate," the Collector told her, "we've arrested more than fifty rebels affiliated with the CSM in the last twenty-four hours."

"Good for you," Angel said flatly.

The Collector narrowed his eyes and leaned over the table, getting down into Angel's personal space. "I know you want something," he told her in a voice that was only a few contortions short of a snarl, "and I know you know the names of more operatives."

Angel gave him a clever grin, hiding her disgust that a vermin like him would get within a few inches of her face. "Correct on both accounts," she replied coolly.

"What is it you want, then? A reduced sentence?" The Collector stood up straight again, and looked down on her with a cruel, amused expression. "Dream on, mutant; your wings are a life sentence all on their own. They're going to process you and throw away the key."

"I know," Angel replied acceptingly, using the closest tone to meekness she could muster, "but I do have one wish. A final request, if you will."

"Like what?"

"I want to have an audience before the Supremacy," she stated, "I got stuck with the CSM because of these stupid wings, but I really do have the greatest respect for our leaders. I know they have to do what's best for the empire as a whole, but it would mean so much to me to meet them in person just once."

The Collector gave her an incredulous smile. "You've got to be kidding. A few names aren't worth an audience before the Supremacy."

Time to pull out the ace, Angel thought to herself. "Well what if I could give you more than just a few names? What if I could give you _the_ information your department has been looking for?"

"_The_ information?" The Collector was still suspicious, but open to suggestion. "Like what?"

"I have some big connections in the CSM, Collector," Angel laid out her offer, "and if you can get me an audience with the Supremacy, I'll give you the best tip-off of your life: I'll give you the alias and home address of Ella Martinez, the most wanted criminal in the entire empire."

* * *

Music and children. Those were the sounds filling Ella Martinez-Griffith's house that day. The children, who were hers of course, were all upstairs, giggling and smiling as they gave baby Jason walking lessons. Nina was probably up there too, keeping watch like a mother hen. _Nina,_ Ella thought fondly to herself, _I love that girl so much. I love them all so much._

Adversely, the music—a soulful, upbeat piano piece—originated from the basement, where the old piano sat. The farmhouse had been mostly furnished when they'd gotten possession of it a good fifteen years ago, and everything felt and smelled of old country grandmother. This house had a very distinct ambiance, contributed to by the faded wallpaper, the musty couches, the rickety yet cozy structure, and the grand piano, which Iggy had taken up playing to pass time when he was watching baby Nina while Ella worked.

Iggy was one of the most amazing people Ella had ever known, and not just because he could fly. He was smart, and funny, and resourceful, and fearless, yet at the same time a little bit shy. He knew enough about chemistry and medicine to have a degree in one or both of them, his cooking put everyone else's to shame, he'd taught himself how to play the piano, and he was so self-sufficient and adapting that at first glance you'd never know he was blind. He wasn't half-bad looking, either, what with him being genetically engineered to be aesthetic. _He's so much better than me,_ Ella had often thought to herself. Why he'd choose to settle down with an ordinary human like her was beyond Ella's understanding. But in the end he _had_ chosen her, and sixteen years, five kids, and one rebellion later she wasn't about to argue his choice.

The sound of the piano was entrancing as it echoed up the staircase, and Ella found herself drawn down the stairs by the echoing melody. "Someone's been practicing a lot," she commented as she approached the piano.

Iggy stopped playing, and instead turned and gazed at her with those sightless blue eyes. "With Nina watching the younger kids and with Hunt managing so much of the farm nowadays," he replied, "I've had more time on my hands."

"Nina is good with the kids," Ella commented, "and she watches them like a hawk." She paused, unsure if she wanted to speak what else was on her mind. But finally, she did. "She's a lot like Max."

"Yeah," Iggy replied quietly, "I've noticed."

There was no denying the similarities between Nina and her absent aunt, though there was definitely a lot of Iggy in her personality also. But against all odds, the family gene pool had splashed out a little girl who looked so much like Max it hurt Ella to look at her sometimes. Her appearance, combined with her fiery spirit, made for a striking resemblance.

It probably wasn't fair to Nina in some ways, how strong of a legacy she carried in her face, and how desperately Ella had tried to shelter her. Many girls her age in the CSM had already left their homes and had been spread throughout the empire. Some of them might even go as far as volunteering for sleeper agent duty in the West, leaving everything and everyone they'd ever known to settle in enemy territory, waiting for the day Ella issued the battle call. But every expression on Nina's face—the way she spoke and joked, snarled and smiled—and her fearlessness and compassion for others, it was all a reminder that the real Max was gone and none of them had been able to rescue her.

Max had saved Ella from those jerks all those years ago, and she'd protected many others, but Ella hadn't been able to protect Max when she'd needed it most. She wasn't going to let the cycle repeat itself with Nina. It was hard enough sending Hunt, who was like a son to her and Iggy, into the danger. But Ella could never let Nina, Max's likeness, risk herself for the cause; not beyond raiding transporters and helping in the computer room. If anything happened to her, it would be like losing Max all over again.

So many memories seemed to have risen from the past in the last few days, ever since Lex turned up. "We've been through a lot, haven't we?" Ella mused, smiling at the past.

Iggy smiled too. "That's one way of putting it, I guess. What with you starting a rebellion and all."

Ella wanted to jump in and insist that the rebellion hadn't been her doing, but it was just a reflex. Even she had to acknowledge the fact that the CSM movement had come to be largely because of her. "I still remember the first time you kissed me," she told him, "back on Springer Island. You were my knight in shining armor."

"As if you needed a knight," Iggy responded, "you practically overthrew the entire place yourself."

"Vera helped!" Ella reminded him.

"Ah, yes, Vera," Iggy remarked reminiscently. Everyone in the CSM knew Vera; she was almost as notorious as Ella, which was probably why they were such close friends. She made Iggy a little nervous. "But she was the sidekick. You still held the spotlight in that little takeover."

"She _did_ lead at Savahara, though."

He snorted amusedly."The Savahara incident. Classic." Both Ella and Iggy broke out into amused grins and echoed, "Who knew the drugs would make them do _that_?" One of the many ongoing jokes that had stemmed from their mishaps at Savahara.

"I don't think your mom ever forgave me for that," Iggy mentioned, grimacing slightly.

"She just likes toying with you," Ella insisted, "besides, everything turned out for the best."

"Yeah, but I still have scars from Vera's butter knife." No, the Savahara incident had not been a conventional battle. "Plus, no one will shut up about the whole thing! When we overthrow the Supremacy, they'll probably write it into the history books. And _then_ where will we be?"

Ella laughed at Iggy's remark, and then got a bit more solemn. "You seem so sure that we're going to win this fight," she murmured, "I'm not." She leaned her head on Iggy's shoulder, who responded by stroking her hair gently. _Touch is such a powerful thing, _Ella thought to herself.

"Why me, Iggy?" she asked for the millionth time. "Why am I the one who everyone depends on? I'm not smarter than anyone else, or braver, and I don't have any special skills… it should be Max in charge."

As he'd done time and time again, Iggy refuted her put-downs. "You are smart, Ella, and brave. And you have a big heart. That's why everyone looks to you for leadership. You're not in it for the power; you just want to do what's right. You have everything Max had—has—and more."

"But…"

Iggy leaned down and kissed her lovingly, before adding, "Has it ever occurred to you that you don't need superpowers to be a hero?"

Before Ella could reply, however, Nina came running down the stairs, tense with urgency. "Mom, Dad," she reported, "the motion detector just went off. There are transporters coming—a lot of them. As in, I think they know about us." There was fear written all across her face.

And then sweet, insecure little Ella Griffiths was put on the back shelf. Ella Martinez the rebel was on call.

"Nina, get the kids together and take them to the shelter," she instructed sharply, "I'll grab the emergency packs and meet you at the back door. This is a code black situation." Ella felt her heart grow cold, giving her daughter such harsh instructions, but now was not the time to feel bad about it.

As Nina rushed upstairs to get the little kids ready to go, Iggy stood up and told Ella, "Your mom is still in town buying food. I'll find her, and then we'll meet up with you and the kids at the church." Both of them knew that this wouldn't be a problem for Iggy; he knew the town and countryside like he knew bombs, and finding Valencia in the tiny marketplace would be easy. Besides, by air he could get there in a matter of minutes instead of in an hour.

Knowing there wasn't time to spare, Ella and Iggy didn't even stand still long enough to say goodbye. Instead, Ella just told him as they ran up the stairs, "Be careful," and with a quick nod they went their separate ways; Iggy taking to the sky and Ella leading the kids to safety.

Even as they were leaving through the back door, Ella could hear Collectors breaking down the front one. She didn't dare turn back and look to see what was happening—heaven knew how many transporters were parked in front of her house right now. The barbed wire fence sure hadn't slowed them down any. And was that a helicopter she heard in the distance? The day kept getting better and better.

Even with her heart pounding in her ears and her chest about to burst, Ella could hear loud and clear the noise of Collectors in fast pursuit. There was maybe one hundred yards between her and them, with her kids already slowing down at the crosses, waiting for her.

"Code black!" she screamed again, "Keep going! I'll get the crosses!"

Nina tried to object. "Mom—"

"GO!" Ella commanded, and this time Nina didn't hesitate. Even though Nina had her defiant streaks and would never abandon anyone willingly, she understood that code black meant code black: if someone couldn't keep up, they got left behind. If they got in the way, you went through them. Destroy what you can't carry, and leave the scene without checking for survivors. Code black was Ella's command to forgo mercy and consideration.

After all, it wasn't abandonment if you had permission to leave someone.

Quickly Ella began manipulating the crosses, twisting the hidden levers to unlock the bunker door, just as she'd done a thousand times before. She moved in a blur, her actions both second nature and fuelled by desperation. The Collectors were fifty yards away now—they were fast sprinters, even faster than Nina and Iggy—but they wouldn't get her children this time. Ella would make certain of that.

She finished adjusting the crosses, and then they clicked and re-positioned themselves. Forty yards away. It was too late for Ella now. She'd lost her head start too quickly, and if she ran for the shelter now she'd only lead them to the kids.

So instead of trying to catch up, Ella began running in a different direction, one that would take them away from the kids. Twenty yards. She had maybe a few seconds before the Collectors overtook her, but that might just be enough to guarantee Nina and the others got out safely. That was the most important thing now; that her children were safe. She couldn't allow them to be used as leverage against her later on.

Fifteen, ten, five… And then the first muscle-bound body hit her, knocking her light frame to the ground effortlessly. _My first arrest in fifteen years,_ she thought grimly as the dead twigs and frostbitten leaves scratched her face and stuck in her hair, _though I think this is one of my better apprehensions. Less blood this time. _

Eventually the weight shifted off of her body, and she felt two strong sets of arms jerked her back onto her feet. Resistance was pointless. "Ella Martinez," one Collector, who seemed to be in charge of all the others, declared, "you are under arrest for treason and escaping empirical custody, as well as other charges." Even though Collectors were cool, calculating soldiers with stony faces that would have made Fang look emotional by comparison, Ella got the distinct feeling that they felt very smug right about now. It wasn't every day you got to apprehend the empire's most wanted rebel leader.

Instead of giving them the satisfaction of showing them her fear or anger, she did what all great heroes did when captured: she gave them a coy smile and a sly remark. "I was wondering when you guys would show up. What, didn't the Supremacy get my change of address form?"

The head Collector clenched his jaw and stepped towards her, his hand tensed as if he wanted to slap Ella for her impertinence. Before he could say or do anything, however, there was a loud explosion from deeper in the woods, which was followed by a massive shockwave that sent even the Collectors reeling.

Ella too was rattled by the explosion, but she grinned as she realized what happened. "Good job, Nina," she whispered, as the Collectors scrambled to lock her away and figure out what had just occurred. Even after all these years, Iggy's self-destruct system for the bunker had worked perfectly. The computers were destroyed, the kids were gone, and Iggy and her mom were safe.

Now it was just Ella, a large crater in the ground, and a team of seriously ticked-off Collectors.

* * *

*sigh* Ella and Iggy make a good pair, I think. Even if they are "old" in this fic. :P

I knew from the very beginning of developing this story idea that Ella would be one of my central characters. I mean, everyone writes her as the useless kid sister who _occasionally_ gets captured and mutated, but usually just tags along and/or falls in love with Iggy. So I was like, "How about a story where Ella's the heroine but she's still a normal human?" Admittedly, this story isn't directly about Ella, but she's still a key player.

You know, I'd love to do a couple prequels to this story about some of Ella and Iggy's early rebel adventures. I mentioned two particular incidents in the story: the Springer Island takeover and the infamous Savahara incident (both of which are already largely planned out in my head). Would you guys be interested in finding out how Ella became a rebel leader, who her friend Vera is, and why everyone snickers about Savahara? If so, let me know in a review.

…Oh yeah, and Ella's toast. :P


	23. Ella Under Pressure

I'm excited about this chapter; we get to see Ella's rebel side in action, as well as get a glimpse into her illustrious legacy. Also, Nina breaks out of her protective zone and Dr. M. says something nice to Iggy for the first time in fifteen years. :) Yes, this shall be interesting.

23 – Ella Under Pressure

The next thing Ella remembered after being beat up and drugged by Collectors was waking up to find she was trapped in a chair, her wrists tied behind her back and her ankles strapped to the legs. There was also an obnoxiously bright spotlight beaming in her face. "Ughhh…" she groaned, her bones and muscles aching as she shifted herself into a more upright position. It was because of moments like these she was glad she'd given up fieldwork when she found out she was expecting Nina.

No sooner than she'd shown any sign of life did a stern, sinister voice penetrate her ears. "Ah, Ella Martinez, it's been such a long time."

Ella forced herself to lift her head and pry open her swollen eyes, so that she could see her nemesis. He was a fit but older man, perhaps in his sixties, with a grey moustache, short hair, and an impressive-looking uniform with a beret. Once she got a look at him, Ella realized she'd encountered this man before. "Hey, I know you. You were at Savahara. General Gripes, right?"

The general scowled at her. "It's Grieves; General Grieves."

"Well, it's an unfortunate name either way." Sarcasm and wit—the perfect defense against fear and intimidation tactics. Ella had once asked Max how she managed to face up against so many twisted individuals without freaking out in front of them. _"Lots of sarcasm and comebacks,"_ she had replied, _"it's harder for them to get to you if they don't think you're taking them seriously_." So whenever Ella got into scrapes like this, her strategy was to act like Max.

"You're not in a very good position to be commenting on my name, Ms. Martinez," the general warned.

"Look who's talking," Ella chided, "My name isn't Martinez anymore, general. Didn't you hear? I'm married now."

Grieves decided to go along with it. "That's right; you married that defective Itex experiment, didn't you? The one that goes by James Griffiths."

"You tell me."

He gave Ella a sickly grin, his teeth stained an unattractive yellow. "I can't say I'm surprised. You had a certain… _chemistry_ back in the day, did you not? Interesting things happened at Savahara, when we administered those experimental interrogation drugs. I believe your side even coined a popular phrase because of it."

Ella rolled her eyes._ Great, even the military has heard Vera's version of the story._ "The quote is, 'Who knew the drugs would make them do _that_?' general. A friend of mine picked it up when she heard one of your men say it. He and his comrade were watching the security footage, you see, when she snuck up behind them and bashed them both over the head."

The general nodded and chuckled, still unable to fully contain his amusement. "I've seen that video footage. We certainly reconsidered our interrogation methods after that incident."

"You mean you've seen the video too?" Ella groaned dramatically, "I'm still trying to clear the _CSM_ of all the copies, but you'd think a professional like yourself would have better things to entertain himself with." She winked at the general.

"It was for military purposes only," Grieves sputtered, his previous amusement turning to fluster.

_This guy is too easy to wind up,_ Ella thought to herself smugly. _How on earth he got reassigned to me after Savahara is a complete mystery._

"But now enough about your teenage trysts in the desert," the general declared, "I'm sure you know what I want by now."

"A better wardrobe?" Ella guessed.

General Grieves took a couple strides towards Ella's chair and stared down at her threateningly. "Don't try my patience," he warned, "or I'll do something you won't like."

"Sorry, I already had my appendix removed," Ella replied, a smirk creeping onto her face.

"I didn't say I'd do anything to _you_," Grieves pointed out, "but I might do something to your freak of a husband."

Ella nearly let her guard down when the general played that card, but she forced her muscles to stay loose and forbade her jaw from clenching. "You're lying," she alleged calmly, "You don't have him. If you did, you would have shown him to me by now."

"As far as—"

The general didn't get to finish, as Ella went on, "And even if you did have him, I wouldn't tell you anything. We have an agreement: neither of our lives are more important than the cause. I have his permission to let you kill him if he falls in a position where he can be used as leverage against me. Or we might just kill ourselves when you're not looking."

This time, though, General Grieves did not let her words phase him. "You'll be wanting to die by the time I'm through with you, but I'm not going to let you," he snarled into her face, his terrible breath almost enough to make Ella gag. "Death is too good for a traitorous, mutant-molesting wretch like you. When all this is over, I'm going to fry your mind in the Brainworks until it sizzles. And while your brain is overloaded to the point of insanity, I'll use all the helpful information you'll give me to bring down your network and put your pretty little birdie family on display."

Ella allowed her expression to deflate, and she turned her head away. "Fine," she said, playing the part of the discouraged prisoner, "but I have just one more thing to ask before you get on with the torture."

The general raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Is your name really Grieves, and are you really even a general?" She looked up at him and smiled as she watched him turn red with frustration. The defiance crackling in her eyes was as bright as fire.

All of the Griffiths children had arrived safe and sound out of the danger zone, once Nina had detonated the explosives and they had exited through the escape tunnel to another part of the woods. They flew to the church, their family's agreed upon rendezvous point, where arrangements were being made for the Griffiths to make an escape. "We haven't heard anything back from Erik since Lex and Hunt arrived there," the pastor was telling Nina, "but even if he's gone, he has an impressive stash of hijacked transporters you can use if your father—" as if on cue, Iggy came down into the basement with Valencia.

"Hey Dad, hey Grandma," Nina greeted the new arrivals with relief. All her siblings chimed in as well, including little Jason, who Nina held in her arms. "Glad to see you're alright."

"Are you all okay?" Iggy asked, stepping towards his children. He was met with a wave of excited, frightened hugs from the tots. "How did the self-destruct work?" There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Despite their grim situation, Nina had to smile. Her dad had always gotten a real thrill from explosives. "It worked perfectly. Not a trace left over." Then she got serious. "But Mom…"

Iggy's eyes went blank and his face tense. "What about Mom?"

"They got her." Nina stared down at the floor blankly. She felt as if she'd let her parents down somehow.

For a little while Iggy was completely silent, his face creased with concern and calculation. And then, "I have to go after her. There's too much at stake if she's gone."

"You're going West?" Nina asked. Iggy nodded, and there was silence in the room. Even the little kids understood how grave this situation was. "Then I'm going with you." She declared.

The adults tried to object, but Nina couldn't be dissuaded this time. "Dad, think rationally about this. You're blind, and you can't navigate new places alone. Not only can I see, but I'm practically a living pair of covert operations goggles! I can see infrared, UV, I can zoom in and out…" she trailed off, knowing she made her point. "You need me."

Closing her eyes thoughtfully for a spell, Valencia nodded and told Iggy. "She's right. You need to find Ella, but you can't do it alone. Take Nina. The kids and I will go stay with Vera at the Winterburn stronghold."

Iggy wanted to say no, to keep Nina out of harm's way for both hers and Ella's sake, but all of his arguments had been deflated by the situation's urgency. He knew Nina was right. "Alright, Nina will come with me." Then he faced Valencia and said, "I promise, I'll do everything I can to get your daughter back safely."

Valencia clasped her son-in-law's arms in a warm but solemn gesture, staring him directly in the eyes even though he couldn't fully appreciate the gesture. "You've made your mistakes along the way, but you haven't let Ella down yet." Iggy could hear a smile forming loud and clear on her face as she spoke to him. "Now take one of those supply backpacks and get flying!" she instructed, "Tear apart the entire West if you have to."

"Thank you, Val. I will." Iggy was still unable to contain his grin, and he asked, "You sure you'll be alright getting the kids to Winterburn, Grandma? It's a pretty long way from here."

"Iggy," Valencia reminded him sternly, "I'm old, but I'm not an invalid. I'll be fine."

"Okay, just checking."

After Nina and Iggy had said their goodbyes and bid the pastor farewell, they went back outside and took off while nobody was around. Setting their course was simple enough: they headed due west. "You know, today could have turned out a lot better," Iggy remarked to Nina as they flew, "but on the bright side, your grandmother hasn't said anything directly nice about me since before you were born! I think today could be considered a milestone."


	24. The Empress

**24 – The Empress**

Angel finally got her audience with the Supremacy. And what an audience it was.

The Collector who had interrogated Angel previously brought her news of Ella's capture. "They didn't apprehend the family," he told her, "but they caught Ella Martinez. She will be interrogated and then tried for treason."

"I see." Angel fought hard to hide her delight.

"You will be brought before the Supremacy tomorrow," he said, "and after that you will be transferred to an appropriate containment center."

_You mean a lab_, Angel thought darkly. Only humans got the privilege of sitting undisturbed in a vat of suspension gel, feeding their energy into the Brainworks. Mutants were always sent to different locations for studying, because as anti-mutant as the Supremacy presented themselves to be, they were always researching and experimenting, trying to develop bigger and better soldiers. Who knew, maybe one day they'd even replace Collectors with winged people.

Just as the Collector had promised, the next day she was transported to the empirical palace to go before the Supremacy, shackled from head to toe and escorted by two guards. They took her through the back entrance, not wanting to upset the crowd of tourists and workers that routinely passed through the public entrances, and then they led her deep into the inner sanctum of the palace, to the central chamber where the Supremacy met. The belly of the beast.

"We have brought you the mutant who helped us capture Ella Martinez, my lords," one of the Collectors announced as they entered, his voice echoing in the massive dome.

The dome itself was quite impressive, the walls made of polished panels of sky blue glass supported by a brass frame. The Supremacy sat in cushy velvet chairs behind a massive oak desk that arced around the room from doorpost to doorpost. They must have sat at least ten feet higher than the open tile floor Angel was standing on, and they peered down at her with curious but condescending gazes.

She was dirt in their eyes. Dirt, even though she was their genetic, aesthetic, and intellectual superior. That was one of the reasons she hated humans: it was their nature to look down on anyone who was different or more advanced than they were.

The chairman of the Supremacy, a well-aged man who, like the other nine members of the council, had already been a powerful businessman before the Barrier went up, motioned for the Collectors to release her. They did, and then they moved to the back of the room, leaving Angel standing alone in the middle of the floor.

"We understand that we have you to thank for the capture of the empire's most notorious dissident," the chairman drolled, an air of jaded obligation in his voice, "and that in return you wished to see us before you are dealt with appropriately for the safety and well-being of the empire." Out of the corner of her eye Angel saw one of the Supremacy members yawn. These formalities were as pointless to them as they were pointless to Angel, who was growing impatient.

Now was time to get down to business.

You see, all those times Angel told Nudge and Gazzy she had been trying to intercept Citadel signals, she had really been practicing. Preparing, in case she ever had an opportunity like this. "Please send the Collectors out of the chamber," Angel instructed sweetly, directing all her manipulative energy at the Supremacy.

A wave of confusion hit the Supremacy like a tsunami. "I-I beg your pardon?" the chairman stuttered, not understanding what was happening to him.

"I said," Angel repeated in a cool, even voice, "Send the Collectors out of the room."

Hesitantly, the chairman obeyed. "Collectors, please wait outside of the chamber for the time being," he told them. Immediately the Collectors obeyed and left the room, looking a little bit bewildered.

Once Angel and the Supremacy were alone, she told them in a smooth, instructive tone, "From this point on, you will obey my every command. You will not resist me, and not only will you not try to go against me, but you will adore me and agree with everything I decide. Is that understood?"

Like mist Angel's commands settled upon the Supremacy, clouding their minds and diminishing their will to resist. All confusion and concern was replaced with an unfaltering loyalty, a desire to hang onto every single word that came out of Angel's mouth. "We understand," they replied in unison, like mindless automatons.

"Good." Angel allowed a jubilant smile to spread across her perfect face. "Now, you will order the Collectors to come back in, unshackle me, and escort me to comfortable guest quarters, preferably with a light blue color scheme. You will not say anything about me or this incident to anyone, not even to each other. I want a decent office set up for me within the hour, and once it is ready I will see all of you in there. As of now, I am a permanent member of the Supremacy."

The council members simply nodded numbly, and the chairman re-summoned Collectors and had them free Angel. "There has been a misunderstanding," he told them, "this young lady is to be released and escorted to suitable quarters immediately. Please guide her to the Oceana suite, and if she has any needs make sure they are taken care of immediately." The Collectors offered a quick nod to the Supremacy, and then courteously led Angel back out the door.

_Oh, and one more thing, _Angel told the Supremacy, using thoughts instead of sounds because the Collectors were apprehensive now, _whenever_ _you speak to me, you will address me as Empress Angel._ They all shifted slightly in acknowledgment, and then Angel turned away from them and followed the Collectors to her new quarters.

_Surrendering was the best thing I ever did,_ Angel thought to herself smugly.

Just as Angel had instructed, an office was set up for her within the hour. It was a beautiful setup: the walls were ivory, with spiral designs embossed into the wallpaper; the desk was oak and intricately carved, probably an antique, and had an expensive-looking plug sitting on top of it; and even though the room was tucked away safely where no one would find Angel out, massive artificial windows lit the room and gave everything that warm, sunny feeling. Right now they were programmed to show an idyllic countryside scene, with long country grass and sheep that looked so real you'd almost think you could go outside and touch them. Even Angel had to be impressed with the decor.

Without further delay Angel assembled the Supremacy in her office, commanding them to stand in front of her desk in two straight rows so she could see them all at once. She, of course, remained sitting in her gorgeous mahogany chair with velvet cushions. "There are a few issues I wish to address in this meeting," she announced. As she had anticipated, she was met with thoughts of approval and eagerness. Her brainwashing had worked perfectly, just as it had on all those people she'd practiced on in the supermarket.

"First of all," she began, "I want to receive instruction on how to issue commands to the Collector troops. My orders should rank higher than anyone else's, and I wish to be able to give my own instructions in case a situation comes up where none of you are available to give the commands for me." _Which might be rather soon_, she added silently.

Supreme March, a paisley woman who had somehow been involved in the computer market in the old days, piped up, "Collectors have specially modified brains that are interfacial with Brainworks technology. They receive instructions directly from authorized plug signals, and your voice and face can be programmed into them so that they recognize your authority."

Angel gave her a nod of approval. "Good, you are to see to that immediately after this meeting."

She then moved on to her second order of business. "Secondly, I want you to make sure that Ella Martinez is processed immediately, preferably before the week is out."

Despite their utmost allegiance to Angel, the Supremacy murmured with concern. "We were hoping to interrogate her further before sentencing her," Supreme Gosslin, the head of empirical security, explained.

"Pointless," Angel said, dismissing their concern, "she'll never talk. I know enough about the CSM to deal with it appropriately anyways. Better you neutralize her quickly before she can become a concern again.

"Now, last of all," she told them, "I have to ask: do any of you know where Maximum Ride is?" When they all shook their heads, Angel's heart sank. "I see. And Fang, her companion?"

"He was apprehended approximately sixteen years ago and put into permanent storage at a secure location," Supreme Gosslin spoke again.

"Alive?"

"Yes, Empress."

Well, it wasn't Max, but it was definitely progress. "I want him brought back to the palace immediately," she directed him, "But make sure he is transferred securely and by your best men, so that there are no problems delivering him here safely. Fang is a friend, and I don't want him to be frightened or to misunderstand our intentions."

"Yes, Empress," Gosslin intoned obediently.

"I also want a list of all known mutants, captured or not, issued to me immediately." Angel was about to dismiss him and the others when she realized, "You all said you don't know where Maximum Ride is. Are you absolutely sure?" she inquired, "Do you at least know whether or not she is in the empire?"

"We cannot be certain, since the Chinese government had also organized a search team to track her down and neutralize her before the Barrier's activation," Gosslin explained, "but if she was apprehended rather than eliminated, she is probably being held somewhere on the outside."

"I see." Angel grimaced. Though it was possible for a few small boats to penetrate the Barrier from the outside, the charge of the electromagnetic current on the inside of the force field repelled objects with a push far stronger than the resistance crossers encountered on the outside. It was impossible to get closer than within fifteen, twenty miles of the Barrier. "So she is out of our reach."

The Supremacy members looked at each other anxiously. "Well actually," the (former) chairman informed her, "there is one way through the Barrier."

Angel straightened up in her chair. "There is?" She asked, trying not to jump for joy in her seat.

"Yes, the Gate."

"The Gate… I thought that was just an urban legend."

The chairman shook his head. "We made an agreement with our co-conspirators never to try entering or contacting the outside the world once the Barrier was fully functioning, but, well, it's always best to keep one's options open."

"Well then, I want to be given full control over the Gate," Angel instructed them, her spirits brightening, "and if there are any key cards, passwords, etcetera required to use it, I want to be the sole possessor."

Then she dismissed them, sending them off to run the empire for her. Leaning back in her chair, Angel felt a great sense of hope and accomplishment linger inside of her. Not only had she located Fang, who she was eager to see, but now she literally had every resource and opportunity at her fingertips. She had an army, she had an empire, and she had a means of searching for Max outside of the Barrier's confines. Nothing could stop her now. Nudge was wrong about her—she _was_ omnipotent. She was Empress Angel, the all-powerful.

* * *

*tsk-tsk* Angel, Angel, Angel, when will you ever learn?

Things are starting to look a little bleak now, aren't they? :( I do hope nothing _bad_ happens to anyone. *chuckles evilly* Oh, who am I kidding? I'm the one who caused all the bad stuff to happen. But you can't stop me, do you hear? I AM THE _REAL_ ALL-POWERFUL ONE! MWAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH!

…Sorry, I was using the Wii Fit before I typed this up. My brain's still a little oxygen-deprived. :P


	25. Ella's End

This is a sad chapter. :'( As much as I enjoy giving my characters strife, I feel a little bad about what's going to happen to Ella. She's one of my favorite characters in this story. Also, we get a little insight into the Ella/Hunt dynamic. *sniffles* Though the future isn't looking so great for Hunt, either. :( Poor guy.

But before we get to that, I thought I'd look over a few of my reviewers' comments more closely; I'm afraid my tight schedule has left me with little time for replies. :/ Let's see if there's anything to address…

**WinterSky101** – What do naps have to do with anything? :-k

**nathan-p** – I'll take it that means you liked the description? :P And actually, when I'm being perfectly honest with myself, I was planning to do extra stories from the very beginning. I just wanted to see if anyone would actually read them and make my effort worthwhile.

**AngelwiththeClippedWings **– YES! The new reviewer-proof shelter's done! *bolts self inside* Hahaha! Take that Leela! }:D

*cough* Anyways, on with the story.

* * *

**25 – Ella's End**

After three days of terror, torture, and verbal abuse, Ella Martinez was finally transferred to a processing camp. General Grieves hadn't been very happy when he got the order to cease the interrogation and make the transfer immediately—he had just threatened to pull her teeth out with a pair of pliers unless she talked, and had been looking forward to carrying through with it—but he did as he was told and sent her off without putting another scratch on her body. _I'm one step closer to my doom,_ Ella thought, running her tongue over her teeth, _but at least my smile is intact._

When she arrived at the camp, she was searched and issued a faded red jumpsuit, just like all the other prisoners. She was assigned a barrack, given a work schedule for the camp's adjoining air purification plant (almost all processing camps were also work camps of some sort), and then released into the chaos. Camps like these were often little more than organized mobs full of dirty, underfed, overcrowded people, with everyone pushing their way around and trying to forget their anxiety by starting trouble with each other. The Collectors were always watching, of course, but unless somebody was breaking bones or being raped they usually left the prisoners to their own devices. In fact, they almost seemed to enjoy watching the chaos.

_Maybe that's why there's one big co-ed eating area instead of two separate ones, _Ella mused as she walked through the mess hall, _because the guards enjoy the madness._ The only thing separating the men's side from the women's side was a partition of bendable mesh that looked a lot like chicken wire, but was far too strong for anyone to bend or snip. Perhaps at one time it was electrified, but not anymore, because on both sides people were pressed up against it, shouting and talking and groping and kissing and doing whatever else there was to do through a mesh barrier during lunchtime.

Ella just shook her head at the entire scene, and was about to turn away and get herself some lunch when she thought she spotted a familiar face on the other side. _Hunt?_ And then she began running towards the divider, pushing her way through the lunch crowd until she found an empty spot in the mesh where she could see the men's side more clearly. Sure enough, there was Hunt, carrying his lunch tray to a table. "Hunt!" she shouted, trying to catch his attention. She kept calling him and waving her arms until he noticed her. "Hunt, come over here!"

"Ella?" Hunt called back, equally surprised to be meeting her here. He abandoned his lunch tray and ran over to the mesh. "Ella, what happened?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Ella answered, explaining what had happened at the farm. "Now, how did _you_ end up in this place?"

Hunt described what happened to Ella. "We made it to the West, but Collectors found us and arrested Angel. The rest of us escaped and went to check out a building called the Gallery, but something went wrong and I got caught. Nudge and Gazzy escaped, I think, but I don't know what happened to Lex. She just disappeared."

Just then a couple of Collectors entered the mess hall on the women's side and began calling, "Ella Griffiths! You're due in court in fifteen minutes!" _Already?_ Usually it took a month or two for someone to get tried and sentenced. She'd barely been there a day. _Trying to get rid of me quickly_, she thought grimly.

Suddenly Ella realized she was standing there on borrowed time, and only had a few more seconds left with Hunt before the Collectors located her. "Look, I don't know how long they'll sentence you for, Hunt," she told him, "but I'm not getting out of the Citadel anytime soon. Maybe not ever." Ella felt a sickening foreboding take root in her stomach, and she felt like she might break down and cry, but she had to keep talking. "If somehow you get out of here, promise that you'll find Lex and keep the others safe for me."

Even though he probably wanted to cry as much as she did, Hunt retained his composure as he nodded and said, "I promise." He shuddered slightly and bit back on his lip, and for a brief instant the strong young man in front of her looked like the scruffy little twelve-year-old Hunt that Iggy had carried into the house four years ago. "I'm scared, Ella," he whispered. "Really scared."

"Me too," she admitted, looking straight him in the eye, "but being afraid doesn't mean you don't have courage, because you do." She reached forward and brushed her fingers against his face lovingly, tears threatening to leak from her eyes. "I love you, sweetie," she told him quietly, "and I'm so proud of you."

Hunt nodded numbly, and tried his best to smile. "I love you too."

"Ella Griffiths!" One of the Collectors shouted, exasperated, "We know you're in here! Come with us now or you'll receive an instant life sentence of service in the Brainworks for not showing up in court!"

_As if I'm not going to get a life sentence already. _"I got to go now," Ella told Hunt, "but tell the others I love them too. You'll get out of here somehow; I'm sure of it." She smiled at him, and then went away with the Collectors.

* * *

Just as Ella had anticipated, she was given a life sentence in court. Treason was almost always a sure ticket to life in the Citadel, but even aside from that the system was harsh in dealing out sentences. Even relatively minor offenses, like not paying your taxes on time, could get you several years in the Brainworks these days. The West was desperate for more processing power, and what better way to obtain it than through a twisted judicial system?

After the trial and sentencing, Ella was immediately hand-cuffed and stuffed into the back of a transporter with at least ten other prisoners bound for the Citadel. Some of them chatted amongst themselves, talking about what they'd done and how long they were going to be spending in the Brainworks. Ella didn't dare say anything, though, just in case some of her fellow captives were resistance supporters. If they were to find out that the infamous Ella Martinez, the champion of their cause, had been captured and was hopelessly resigned to a fate in the Citadel, they would be devastated.

Yes, Ella had accepted the fact that she was going to be staying in the Citadel for the foreseeable future. For all the things the CSM had accomplished, they had never rescued anyone from the Citadel. You didn't "just" break into a place like the Citatel—it would be like saying you could "just" storm the empirical palace and overtake the Supremacy, or "just" cross the Barrier to the outside. It was an impossibility. There were too many Collectors, too extensive of a security system, and too little manpower on their end. It would take nothing short an army to get Ella out, and while the CSM was, in fact, slowly forming an army out West, that endeavor was a good twenty or thirty years away. By then it would be too late for Ella.

Most people who spent two or three years in the Citadel made a full recovery; you might be a little dazed when you got out, but you'd return to normal fairly quickly. Longer sentences carried longer recovery periods, debilitation lasting up to a few weeks rather than a few hours. And, once you got up to ten, twenty, thirty years, the risk of a permanent psychological breakdown became increasingly more likely, especially if you were being used as a processor for heavy loads of complicated codes and information. The perpetual inflow of data and neurological stimulation interfered with your brain's ability to function properly outside of the 'Works, so it was common for long-time prisoners to experience flashbacks, suffer from mental disturbances, or even descend into complete insanity once released from the Citadel. The disorder was known as Post-Brainworks Retention Syndrome, or PBRS. And, knowing how much the Supremacy _loved_ Ella, they'd do everything within their power to make sure she got it. After all, a crazy enemy was almost as harmless as a dead one.

Once the transporter arrived at the Citadel, the prisoners were all taken to the clinical department—which was really half human cattle ranch, half hospital—for testing and prepping. After receiving a series of injections and medications to make her body "more receptive to the osmotic oxygenation and nutrition provided by the specially-designed suspension solution that will keep your body nourished and prevent muscular atrophy", as one of the nurses had kindly explained, Ella was showered off and put into a wetsuit for the final step of processing.

A nurse wanted to cut her hair short to make it easier for the technicians to work on her, but Ella glared at her and politely refused. "I like my hair the way it is, thank you very much." In a world full of dull factory outfits and bare necessity, Ella had always kept her long to retain a sense of femininity—she had always held there was no shame in looking like a woman, whether you were working on the farm or working as a CSM operative. Her hair probably wouldn't even be dry by the time they put her in a tank, and even if it was it'd be a mess, but Ella liked to think that in some small way her hair would remind the technicians working on her that she wasn't just an androgynous patient. She was a woman, a wife, a mother. She was a real person.

Ella spent a short while in a locked waiting room with several other fully-prepped prisoners, and since there were no magazines to flip through (Ella rolled her eyes at that thought; there hadn't been any paper-bound magazines around in years), she was forced to stop and think about who and what she was leaving behind. What would happen to the CSM? Would Iggy get over losing her, ever fall in love again? Who would help raise her children? Would her mother cry? Would baby Jason remember her at all when he was older? Would Lex remain missing like her parents? Would Hunt receive a heavy sentence from the processing court, or would he get out quickly and continue living his life? Would either he or Nina find a special someone in the near future? These were questions only asked by a person who would never find out the answers. For all intensive purposes, this was the end of Ella's life.

_It would have been better if they killed me,_ Ella thought dejectedly, _at least that way everyone could move on and I would be out of their clutches._ But no, death would be too merciful. The Supremacy wanted her to suffer for the trouble she'd cause them. Besides, to kill her would be a waste of perfectly good brain matter that could send their children's emails and archive medical journal articles. Her mind was empty space for rent.

"Ella Griffiths?" a nurse called, reading the name off a cliff board. How many people had that woman sacrificed to the Citadel with that clipboard? How many of them were still in there? How many prisoners were in the Citadel in total? Thousands, hundreds of thousands? These were the thoughts that crossed Ella's mind as she walked stiffly towards the nurse, who escorted her through a pair of doors into a room full of suspension tanks, all of them inset into the floor so that they looked like flooded manholes instead of a virtual death sentence.

The nurse turned her over to a group of technicians, who gently but firmly escorted her to her designated tank. "Take this mask," one of the technicians instructed her, handing her a mask that covered the nose and mouth and had a tube running from it, "and put it on. It's connected to an air supply, but once your body adapts to the solution you won't need it. You'll get all your oxygen through absorption." Ella looked long and hard at the technician, who was a good-looking girl in her early twenties with caring eyes. She reminded her a little of Nina. "Is something wrong, ma'am?" the technician asked attentively, "Do you want one of my colleagues to administer a sedative to you, to help you relax?"

Ella shook her head. "Why are you in this line of work?" she asked, smiling sadly at her. The technician didn't answer, and she looked down at the floor so she didn't have to meet Ella's gaze.

"Well," Ella continued, "I guess we should get this over with." She strapped the mask onto her face had the other two technicians help her into the vat of bright green solution. Almost immediately Ella felt the sedatives and muscle relaxants in the air supply take their course, leaving her paralyzed in the water.

After a few minutes the air supply was cut off, but Ella barely noticed. Breathing was unnecessary now that she was directly submerged in the oxygen-rich solution, and lungs became entirely pointless once a technician reached down and disconnected the little tube, leaving only the mask behind to keep the airway sealed. Ella felt the technician attach something to her right temple and to the base of her neck, but even though there was a prodding sensation as the probes took root, she was too numb to feel pain now. And even if she had felt pain, she was too drugged up to care.

Goodbye was the one of the few words she could still conjure up in her mind, as the technicians sealed the top of the tank and a mechanical arm lifted Ella and clamped her onto a conveyor belt. _Goodbye Iggy, Goodbye Mom, Goodbye kids, Goodbye Max…_ the list went on and on as Ella's tank moved along the conveyor belt as it slithered behind the frame of already-filled tanks in front of her, looking for an empty spot to put her in.

Finally an open spot came up, and the conveyor belt popped Ella's tank forward, snapping it into place seamlessly without even stopping. Even in her sedated state, Ella could almost feel the electric connections forming as metal touched metal and signals began to transmit. There would be no resisting, no delay; there was too much power about to surge into Ella's brain. _Goodbye everyone, _she thought, mouthing the words behind her mask, _I love you all. _And then an explosion of text and coding overrode the consciousness that was Ella Martinez-Griffiths.

* * *

*cries* Ellaaaa! She made such a good little rebellion leader. :'/ Iggy is _not_ going to be happy about this. Rest in peace, Ella. Or more specifically, rest in a tank of green liquid as electrical signals pass through your brain and drive you to the point of insanity. *sigh* Memorial cookies, anyone? I baked them in the shape of Ella's head.


	26. Reunited

Heeeey, I'm actually updating before bedtime today! I'm so proud of myself. XD Of course, I'm supposed to be learning Spanish verbs and doing math homework right now, but oh well; progress is progress.

Hmmm… a shorter chapter today. Should I post a second one? Maybe.

* * *

**26 - Reunion**

Since they were going by air instead of land, Iggy and Nina arrived in the West quickly. They were distraught when they discovered that the apartment where the rest of the Flock lived had been broken into and ransacked—a young, blonde mutant girl had been arrested, a neighbor gossiped—but they kept hope that Lex, Hunt, Nudge, and Gazzy were still free. Iggy rationalized that if they were trying to stay hidden, they would have headed towards the mountains, where there were fewer people and they'd be harder to find.

On Thursday Nina spotted Gazzy in a small mountain town, rummaging through a dumpster bin for food.

"Iggy!" he exclaimed, jumping out of the dumpster and rushing his best friend. Iggy nearly lost his balance, but he laughed heartily and hugged Gazzy back. "I'm so glad you're here," he told them, "Nudge and I don't know what to do."

"Nudge is here?" Iggy asked, perking up as if he was listening for her.

Gazzy nodded, and continued, "She's just outside of town. We've been trying to keep a low profile while we plan our next course of action, and, you know, she hates dumpster diving." He smirked.

"We should get out of here before we stop and talk," Nina pointed out.

Iggy nodded. "She's right. Let's go find Nudge, and then we can exchange stories."

When the group was reunited with Nudge, who had set up camp on a mountain ledge outside of town, she was ecstatic when she saw that Iggy and Nina were there. "You've grown so much since the last time I saw you!" Nudge exclaimed to Nina, giving her a huge hug. "But what are you two doing here? How did you find us?"

Iggy and Nina described what had happened to Ella and why they had decided to head West.

"Oh, Iggy," Nudge sympathized, "I'm so sorry."

"That's pretty bad," Gazzy agreed.

Iggy nodded, the raw pain still visible in both his and Nina's faces. "We have to find her," he said adamantly, "the CSM will fall apart without Ella. They've probably held her for questioning, so I'm hoping we can break her out before they have a chance to stick her in the 'Works."

"But what about you guys?" Nina asked, changing subjects, "We know the Collectors got Angel, but how about Lex and Hunt?" She hadn't stopped wondering about them ever since she found out that Nudge and Gazzy were alone—no, before that; since last week, when they should have gotten word of their safe arrival but didn't. Where were they? Were they alright? Had they even made it to the West?

"They arrived at our apartment the same day the bounty hunters set the Collectors on us," Nudge explained, grimacing slightly, "they were pretty roughed up from a transporter wreck that killed their driver, but they were alive and walking." She glazed over slightly as a fond thought came to mind. "It was so nice finally meeting Hunt, after hearing so much about him in your emails. And Lex—I'm still amazed that Max was pregnant and we never knew!–she's such a nice girl, and she's looks so much like Max and Fang."

"Nudge, you're getting off-topic." Gazzy mentioned.

"Oh, sorry," Nudge blushed, "but I still need to tell them about Lex's power."

"She told me that she was really good with languages and accents," Nina remembered. _Intensely lucky girl,_ she'd thought when Lex told her.

"Yes, but she has a new power that showed up right after the crash. It allows her to interface with plugs and computers somehow, by sending electricity between her and the machine." Nudge grinned, "She puts my hacking skills to shame."

"So anyways," the Gasman pressed on, "A friend of mine turned out to be a bounty hunter and she—"

"She, Gazzy?" Iggy raised his eyebrows.

Gazzy ignored Iggy's implications and continued, "She knocked me out, tied me up and put me in the basement," he tenderly fingered the fading scar on his forehead that was once a gash, "but I escaped and warned the others. Angel stayed behind to distract them while the rest of us escaped."

He went on to explain how they had broken into the Gallery, but that somehow the alarms re-engaged and alerted a compound of Collectors that was stationed close to the main building. "The lights went on and buzzers started going off, and we all panicked and started running. We lost track of Lex, so I don't know what happened to her, but Nudge and I managed to dodge the Collectors, get back outside, and take off before they had a chance to grab us."

"And Hunt?" Nina's fists closed anxiously, even though she already knew what the Gasman was going to say.

"They got him," he told her, an apologetic expression on his face, "We followed the transporter that took him away. They've taken him to a small processing camp called the Luna Niña Processing Center, about two hours away from here."

Iggy grimaced, displeased with the news. "If Ella wasn't holed up herself she'd have my head for this," he grumbled, before asking, "And you have no idea what happened to Lex?"

"We didn't even see her," Nudge relayed, "The last time we heard from her was when we were in the Gallery, trying to navigate in the dark. She complained about a sharp pain in her side, and then suddenly the power came back on and we started running. It took us a few moments to realize Lex wasn't running with us."

"A sharp pain?" Nina remarked, "Like a cramp?"

"Or a needle," Iggy scowled. "Gazzy, what exactly is the Gallery?"

"I didn't get a good look," he replied, "but the wall seemed to be lined with tanks. Big tanks full of green gel, like what they use to keep people alive in the Citadel."

"But who—or what—was in them?"

Gazzy grimaced, and answered, "Experiments, I think. Like I said, I didn't get a good look. Some of them almost looked like normal people, but then others…" he trailed off. "Others looked like they could have been fresh from the School."

"It was like a museum of mutants," Nudge described.

"Then my guess is that Lex is still in the building." Iggy was silent for a while, processing all the new details inside his head. Then he decided, "We're breaking them out."

"Lex and Hunt?" Nudge asked.

Nodding, Iggy reminded them, "You said that Luna Niña is small, and out here in the mountains there won't be much in the way of backup. I say we get Hunt out first, and then focus our efforts on breaking into the Gallery. Gazzy, what day were they both captured?"

"Last Friday, I think."

"Then we'd better hope that nothing's happened to them in the meantime—if someone figured out that Hunt lives with me and Ella, he'll be in a world of interrogative hurt right now, and heaven knows what they're doing to Lex." The expression on Iggy's face was grim at first, but soon it turned to one of scheming and mischief. _Oh boy,_ Nina thought—she knew what that expression meant. "Hey Gazzy, when was the last time you built a bomb?"

"An eternity ago," Gazzy lamented, "Nudge is even stricter than Max when it comes to explosives." Nudge gave him a stern look.

"Fortunately for you," Iggy told him, "I happen to have a potent stash of supplies in my backpack." He grinned devilishly and patted Gazzy on the back. "This, my friend, is going to be fun."


	27. Prison Break

**27 – Prison Break**

"Alright," Iggy briefed everyone as they flew through the air, "you know the plan. We drop the bomb, break a door down while everyone's distracted, unlock as many doors and cut as many fences as we can, and then Gazzy will grace us with his special _gift_ to start a panicked stampede." Gazzy couldn't help but grin at Iggy's remark. "Try not to kill everyone, Gaz."

Iggy, Nina, Gazzy, and Nudge were now directly above the processing camp, circling like hawks going in for the kill. The night before Gazzy and Iggy had assembled a pressure sensitive bomb, which Iggy was now holding. "Hey, Telescope Eyes, catch!" he tossed the bomb to Nina, who caught it instinctively and was a little startled.

"Dad!" she cried, "Don't do that! It's pressure sensitive!"

"Not _that_ pressure sensitive, I don't think."

"_Daaaad!_"

"I'm just kidding, Nina," he grinned at her, "Now let's blow this joint—literally! I say aim for a corner; that way there's a good-sized gouge in the wall, and the roof doesn't cave in on our boy Hunt."

"Okay," Nina replied, peering down at the camp (which was actually a giant building) below. Her dad had called her Telescope Eyes for a reason—Nina's eyes literally had a zoom mode that allowed her to see things most people couldn't see from a distance. Using this ability, she was able to position herself so that she was directly above where she wanted the explosive to land. Her infrared vision wasn't picking up any human-shaped heat spots from her soon-to-be ground zero, but she didn't know if the roof was obscuring her view, so she'd just have to hope that no unlucky bystander was hanging around under there. "Here goes nothing," she declared, releasing her grip on the grapefruit-sized bundle. There was a delay of about three seconds as the bomb plummeted towards the building, and then…

_BOOM!_

_Crumble, crumble, crumble…_

"_Hey!"_

"_What the…!"_

"_We're under attack!"_

"And that's our cue!" Gazzy announced, "Let's land on the other side of the building while everyone's still freaking out."

As a group they swooped downwards and came to a graceful landing—well, Nina not so graceful, because she didn't fly that often, but her landing was passable.

"Nudge, are there any doors nearby?" Iggy asked.

"Two on this wall, one right in front of us."

"Electronic lock?"

"Yup."

"Then you're up."

"Gladly," Nudge replied, waving her hand over the keypad. Immediately a little 'ERROR' message flashed on the accompanying screen, and with a few more waves of the hand she used her magnetism to force the door open. "Too easy," she declared, leading the others inside.

"Nudge and Nina, go around and start opening doors," Iggy commanded, "If you can't get them with the lock pick or you're being chased, use the explosives. Open up doors that lead to rooms with lots of people in them, or that open to the outside. Gazzy, you're with me. Masks on in twenty." The foursome dispersed, and Nina took off down the hall, adrenaline pumping like rocket fuel in a lawnmower.

Immediately she spotted a must-open area—the lunch hall! It was teeming with people. The lock was electronic and couldn't be picked, so Nina tacked on an explosive, lit it, and then jumped back. It went off with a loud bang and a flash that left Nina blind for half a second. "Wow, that's really powerful stuff," she's commented, leaning into the lunch hall and screaming, "Prison break! There's at least one door open to the outside, so if you have legs start running!" then she continued down the hall, leaving the confused prisoners to figure the situation out for themselves.

She repeated the process several times, opening work rooms, barracks, and waiting rooms full of prisoners awaiting sentencing. The Collectors were scrambling to catch her, but the confusion caused by the explosives and the jostled prisoners gave her just enough leeway to dart down the hall before they could nab her. As dangerous as this situation was, Nina thought it was the most fun she'd had since the time when she was twelve and she and her sister Maria tied Hunt to a tree while he was napping.

Just then Nina's watch beeped—that was the twenty minute mark! Quickly she reached for her pocket and pulled out the small paper mask, stretching the elastic and positioning it over her face. It was a flimsy thing, but when the Gasman was at the worst of his namesake you took any protection you could get. He'd been fed an all-beans breakfast in preparation for the morning.

As Nina was approaching the open door to go back outside she could already smell the odor seeping into her mask. She tried her best not to gag, and she forced herself to keep moving forward despite the stench. How anyone could humanly produce such an awful stink was beyond her. She fled outside as quickly as she could, but even when Nina was at the full ten yards across the fenced-in prison yard she could still smell it. The dazed trickle of prisoners arriving outdoors quickly became a stampede as Gazzy's vaporous terror was spread by the ventilation system; how he got it into the ventilation system, Nina was unsure.

She didn't dare take her mask off as she used wire cutters to snip gaping holes in the chain link fence outside, allowing the influx of escapees to spill out into the mountainous landscape beyond. They all began running down the winding dirt road, and, by the looks of it, some of the prisoners had managed to mob the Collectors and hijack some transporters. Yes, the camp was emptying out quite nicely.

Eventually, though, Nina had to remove her mask so she could start calling, "Hunt! Hunt! Where are you?" She navigated through the dazed crowd, all of them coughing or retching as they stumbled towards freedom. Finally Nina spotted him as he came out through one of the open doors, nearly doubled over with violent coughing because of the stench.

"There you are!" Nina called, guiding him through the fence and further away from the camp.

"That," Hunt gasped between breaths, "was the most disgusting jailbreak ever." But even Hunt had to grin at the whole scenario.

Nina laughed, and gave him a big hug once he was upright again. "I thought it was pretty intense," she remarked, "I mean, it's not every day you get to blow a chunk out of a government building and sick angry mobs on Collectors," she pointed out a group of prisoners that were pummeling the living daylights out of a couple of guards. "I just hope we didn't release any murderers or anything like that."

Breathing more evenly now, Hunt told her matter-of-factly, "It's doubtful most of these people will actually stay free, especially when they're wearing these clearly identifiable jumpsuits." He looked down at his own outfit.

"Well thanks for ruining my good deed for the day," Nina replied, rolling her eyes.

"Who else is here with you?" Hunt asked, smirking slightly, "Other than the Gasman, of course."

"My dad and Nudge are here too."

"And Lex?"

Nina frowned. "We think she's still in the Gallery."

Hunt cursed under his breath. "That's not good." Then another bad memory flashed across his face, and he grimaced even more. "I think we'd better find Iggy. There's something I need to tell him."

"Tell him what?" Nina asked, reading the distress in Hunt's expression.

"That I saw Ella two days ago, when they took her to sentencing."

* * *

**Brainworks Online **– **Poets4Share **– **Addy X's Profile – "The Gallery" Collection**

"Hatchling" by Addy X

_You're so young, so alive_

_I hate to put you on display_

_But what else can I do hatchling?_

_We're in a world of hunters_

_Where birds are shot_

_But I need to know more_

_More about you_

_More about the bird in the hall_

_Because you, hatchling, still sing_

_So wake up, hatchling_

_Wake up and sing_

_Before your wings are clipped_

_And I put you in the wall_

_What can I do, hatchling?_

_Birds should be free_

_But I snared you_

_And it's too late to turn back_

* * *

*sigh* I hope something good happens soon. I mean, _how many_ important characters are missing/incapacitated right now? And we only have one back thus far. This could be a problem. :-k

Ohhh, I totally forgot the other day about a question I got from **FallenSnowAngel5297**! *facepalm* It was the reason I wanted to answer questions, and I totally forgot about it! Her question was, "what's a grazeface?" Well, FSA5297, the term, common among post-Cutoff American refugee children, originates from the implication that the person you're insulting was _a little slow _leaving the continent and got grazed by the Barrier when it went up. Nothing especially profound, but slang seldom is. :P


	28. Meeting Addy X

Ahhh… so this is the chapter where we get back to Lex. Good, I was starting to worry. :P And we meet Addy, who's been posting all those _lovely_ poems on the Brainworks to puzzle you. Let's just say she's very different from her on-paper personality.

* * *

**28 – Meeting Addy X**

Shadowy walls cast in sickly red-orange light. That was the first blur that peeked into my eyes when I came to.

I felt disgusting, and my muscles ached. Where was I, and when was the last time I showered? I tried sitting up, but was held back by something. I blinked a couple times, and tried to focus; I was on a cot, and my wrists and ankles were bound to the frame by plastic ties. _Great_, I thought. There was a dull pain penetrating my thoughts and clouding them over; I was 90% sure that I had been drugged.

Just then I became aware of another presence to my left, a quiet, mousy voice speaking to me in hushed nervousness. "…So sorry, I shouldn't have…I had to be sure…woke you up…bathroom and food…don't know if you remember…sorry…sorry…" the voice continued to babble, and for a few minutes my brain tuned her out like the whine of a mosquito. But slowly my mind began to clear, and I tried to focus on my companion more closely.

She was a frail, jumpy young woman, in her early twenties I guessed, and as she moved towards me I picked up the same squeaky wheeling sound I'd heard before I blacked out. It's a wheelchair, I realized; this girl is in a wheelchair, and she jabbed me with a needle when I couldn't see her. Somehow she'd moved me back to this room and tied me down to the bed.

"Who… who are you?" I croaked, my throat dry and stiff.

"Oh—uh, well," she sputtered, "W-well, my name is Adelaide Axely, but everyone just calls me Addy—or they did, when I actually saw people, but not anymore. But I post poetry on the 'Works sometimes, under the name Addy X. I-I like to write about my life. Have you heard of me? Probably not. I'm not famous or anything. Oh, sorry, I'm rambling, sorry…"

_Alright,_ I thought to myself, _this chick obviously doesn't get out enough._ "Where are my friends?"

"Oh, your friends!" Addy exclaimed, giving me another jittery response. "Um, I don't know. I hid when the Collectors came. They don't like me you see, because I'm in a wheelchair, but this is my room, so they never look in here. But I saw you on the security monitors before you turned off the system—how did you do that by the way?—though I couldn't see your friends very well. Are they like you? Sorry, I'm off-topic. Anyways, I figured out how to turn the computers back on, though now I feel kind of bad." She frowned remorsefully. "But I had to, because, well, you're not supposed to be here, and I had night vision goggles. It's policy, I guess. Sorry." She was a little less coherent than I prefer (and this girl writes poetry?), but as best as I could tell this Addy person had re-activated the alarm system and alerted the Collectors that we were in the Gallery.

But if she had alerted them… why was I still here?

"I-I know you're wondering why you're here," Addy replied, no sooner than I'd thought that, "But I don't know. I just, I don't know! You were looking right into the outside camera, kind of, and I almost didn't notice anyone there, but right before you shut it off I caught a glance of you and thought, 'she looks so familiar', and right as you shut the computer down I knew—I know your face! You look like someone I know! So I kind of overreacted. Oh, they're not going to be happy with me! I'm not even supposed to be here! They're going to process me now, I'm sure of it! Sorry—"

"Enough sorry's!" I interrupted, getting impatient, "You just said I look like someone. Who? Who do I look like?"

When I asked that, Addy went pale(r) and backed her wheelchair up. "Oh…" she murmured, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. No one's supposed to know about them. Sorry… I should go." Then she spun around and wheeled herself towards the door, and I realized she was carrying away a red-tinged lantern, the only light in the room. She was going to leave me here on this cot, alone in the dark.

"Wait!" I cried, "Don't leave me!" My disoriented brain was reeling. "Please, I'm just here looking for my parents!"

Addy turned back and looked at me with a mixture of terror, amazement, and fascination, but she shook her head frantically. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she apologized, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

I moaned/growled/shrieked in frustration, and I jerked violently in an attempt to break my bindings. They held fast. "You can't leave me here!" I screamed, losing my cool. Who was this antisocial paraplegic, keeping me prisoner like this? Had the Collectors gotten a hold of the others? What was going on! My mind was buzzing like a thousand beehives.

I don't know if it was minutes or hours that I lay there in the dark, but it felt like an eternity. Eventually I began reciting poems and phrases in different languages, like I always did to calm myself down. Sparks of blue electricity crackling at my fingertips also had a calming quality about them. Between the chanting and the sparking, I was able to straighten my thoughts out enough to think reasonably clearly.

I had to get out of here somehow. I had to escape the Gallery, locate the others, and determine my next course of action. What would we do next, now that we were on the run? My linguistics grew louder and my fingers sparked brighter as the wheels in my head spun rapidly, mulling everything over.

After a while, though, I realized something: my fingers were warm from conducting electricity. I looked down at my hands, and watched as little blue arcs stretched from finger to finger. _Maybe…_ Slowly I increased the intensity, the bolts of electricity getting bigger and brighter as they danced at my fingertips. My hands were even warmer now, but even though the power must have been scorching, I was completely unscathed—and I'd produced more electricity than this before, I was sure.

I focused intensely on my hands, allowing them to charge and flow with electrical current. Energy meant heat, and heat meant melting. So If I could get my hands and wrists hot enough, I rationalized, then I'd be able to melt my way through the plastic ties holding me to the cot. My hands grew hotter and hotter, so hot that it was starting to get uncomfortable, but finally the plastic started melting. Soon I was able to pull my hands up from the frame of the cot, the ties giving away like putty. The electricity stopped, and I felt my hands carefully, checking for any damage. They were still hot, but there wasn't a mark on them. _Incredible,_ I thought, re-charging my hands and melting the ties on my ankles.

_Freedom sweet freedom,_ I thought triumphantly. My new power was really starting to pay off. I felt my way over to the door, and I turned the knob. Cautiously I stuck my head into the hallway, which was lit but still on the dim side, and looked around. Nobody was there. I stepped into the hallway and began walking, searching for a way out.


	29. A Freak among Freaks

**29 – A Freak among Freaks**

Adelaide Axely sat by herself in front of a specimen tank, staring intently at the face of its inhabitant: a pale, slender woman with skin so translucent her blood vessels looked as if they were etched inside of her, like an intricate design. If she were standing she probably would have been six feet tall, and, if the jagged pads on her hands and feet were of any indication, could crawl up walls like nobody's business. Addy looked more narrowly at the specimen, who looked back at her with sleepy, sedated eyes. Yes, this mutant was definitely a climber, maybe modified with insect genes of some sort. Addy wrote a poem in her notebook about her:

"Climber" by Addy X

_You want to climb_

_To break your shell_

_All you've ever known_

_Is the cocoon they put you inside of_

_You should be climbing_

_But you're bound up_

_You want to be free_

_And you can't be_

_But maybe, if you wait_

_You'll find release_

_Because if you're trapped_

_If you're in a cocoon_

_It means you'll stop crawling_

_And start flying one day_

_And climb so high_

_They'll never catch you again_

Addy smiled at the specimen, as if she were an old friend. She felt sorry for the mutant; sorry that she was different, sorry that she was on display in the Gallery, sorry that she was treated like a trinket instead of the living, breathing creature that she was. Well not breathing, of course, since her lungs had been stopped so she wouldn't inhale the solution by accident, but she and all the other mutants were definitely alive. They looked at her sometimes; with curiosity, with confusion, with anger.

Sometimes Addy felt so dirty, being around beings that were as low as she was and yet were superior to her at the same time. They were superhuman, designed to be stronger and smarter and better than everyone else. They were here because they were too dangerous and valuable to be free. She was here because of a rare degenerative disease that had killed the nerves in her legs and made her a burden to society.

Addy couldn't even remember what the disease was called—she had been diagnosed when she was ten, and after that her parents had talked about it as little as possible—but it meant that somehow the radiation from the Barrier had messed up her nervous system. The deterioration had come slowly at first—at ten, her feet had just gone a little numb. At age twelve, she was wearing leg braces to get around. By the time she was fourteen, she couldn't feel anything below mid-thigh and had to use a wheelchair full-time.

The defect might have spread to her body until she was completely paralyzed, if not for the secondary reason she'd been hidden away in the Gallery: gene therapy. Extremely illegal, uncharted territory, ridiculously expensive. But that wasn't a problem for her dad—he was a high-ranking official in the Supremacy's department of empirical security, with a well-paying position that put him into contact with a lot of doctors and scientists. The therapy had stopped the deterioration from spreading, but her legs had stayed the same. There had also been certain _side-effects_, ones that didn't reveal themselves until after Addy had taken the job at the Gallery.

The job itself had been another favor her father called out. The maintenance position was perfect—an isolated building, virtually no people, and almost everything was done by machine, so she didn't have to lift anything or grab items from shelves. There were a few visitors, of course; mostly officials from the palace who were either sent here on assignment or just plain curious. Addy just stayed out of their way, preferring to retreat to her room and allow the visitors to help themselves.

She'd been in the Gallery since she turned sixteen, about seven years ago. She could still remember the day her father had told her she was being sent away to work, telling her it would teach her self-sufficiency and confidence. Addy knew the truth, though: it was getting too difficult for her family to cover up the fact that she was disabled, and if anyone found out the truth about her they would be ruined. Still, being locked away in the mountains was better than being processed, so she accepted the job and packed her things quickly. Her mother had cried loudly that day, and her older sister and younger brother had acted sullen enough, but they had all been a little bit glad to see Addy go. Hiding a defective family member had been such a huge strain on their social lives.

On the other hand, her youngest brother, who was just a little kid, had cried and hugged Addy tightly and begged her not to go—and he'd meant it. When Addy told him that she no choice, that their parents thought it was for the best, he stopped crying and just stood there forlornly, glaring at their father with tear-swelled eyes as they took her away. She could still remember that face, angry and hurt. He was too young to understand what was going on, too young to resent Addy for being defective. Too young to understand that by sending Addy away their parents were trying to protect him.

She never saw her family again after that.

And so here she was, living alone in a museum of living oddities; a freak among freaks. When she wasn't changing filters, repairing machines, or giving the specimens haircuts, Addy liked to surf the Brainworks. The anonymity was comforting to her—online, nobody could tell whether or not you were different or defective. She had a few 'friends' on the 'Works, sort of, but it was hard to call them friends when she was holding back about so much of her life. She _did_ write the poems though, and even though they were mostly about the mutants in the Gallery, she also saw a lot of herself in what she wrote. It was a good way of being honest without letting all your dirty secrets show.

Just then Addy was startled by a hand on her shoulder, and she turned around. She screamed frantically—the mutant had escaped, and now it was going to kill her! "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" she exclaimed, her heart threatening to explode with terror, "I'm so sorry, please don't hurt me!"

The mutant rolled her eyes, her expression remaining unchanged. "I'm not going to hurt you, Addy. I'm a mutant, not a monster."

"Oh."Addy calmed down a bit, and she replied, "You're right, of course. I'm sorry, societal prejudices. I'm such a hypocrite though, I'm a freak too… not that you're a freak! It's just, I'm in a wheelchair, and gene therapy left me with a weird side-effect. I-I hear thoughts sometimes, when I'm looking at someone close enough. Not always complete thoughts, but they're thoughts, I just know it, and I write about them. I'm a poet." Addy bit her lip, willing her awkward mouth to shut up. It was all true though—long hours of peering directly into the faces of curious creatures, as opposed to keeping her eyes downcast as she did in regular peoples' presence, had revealed the strange ability to her. She couldn't send thoughts back to them or anything like that, but when she looked closely enough she could pick up the gist of what the specimens were thinking. It made great artistic material.

"Please tell me who I look like," the mutant asked, "Is it someone in here?"

Addy nodded. "My power… I like to listen to thoughts, and some of them, well, their thoughts are nicer than others. Less pain, more life. Love. And when I saw you… I just don't know, I don't. But you look like him so much."

"May I see him?" she asked calmly.

"I-I suppose so, but he might not do much. None of them do much, since they're all sedated," Addy rambled as she began wheeling down the hallway, "but I don't sedate them as much as I should. They still think, but they have to think hard. He's nice, you know. Doesn't express much of what he's feeling on the outside, a little like you. Oh, sorry…"

"It's fine," the mutant replied, "It's a genetic thing. Just take me to see him." She still remained stoic in expression, but in her eyes Addy caught a glint of excitement, and mutant's anticipating stream of consciousness was practically radiating the entire room: _…Fang…my dad…what…could it be true…?_

"Here we are!" Addy announced when they reached the right corridor, "He's the third tank on the right. He has good thoughts, mostly, he likes to think about the people he loves… does he love you?"

The mutant shook her head. "He probably doesn't even know I exist."

_I think he might,_ Addy disagreed silently. _He's spent a long time wondering about you._

The mutant walked ahead of Addy and peered through the glass into the tank. Immediately her cool collectiveness dropped, and she gasped, stunned by what she saw. Addy wheeled up next to her, and smiled a little as she caught sight of the familiar specimen.

He was tall and muscular and good-looking, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. He was cleanly shaven, since Addy had just done his up-keeping a couple days ago, with this dark hair in a longer, shaggier cut, since Addy thought he looked best that way—and that was part of being in a museum, right? Looking good? He wore a black wetsuit, like all the other specimens, but unlike the other specimens he never cried, or banged on the glass, or tried screaming. He just thought about things a lot, like he was doing now, fighting hard to remain self-aware: _…life means nothing…how many years…_ There was a mental pause. He had caught site of the mutant girl, and with weary eyes he looked at her closely through the glass._ …who is she?...Max…could it be?...so long… _

The mutant girl was also looking at him closely in return. _…Dad?... I'm Lex…I'm your daughter…photo…tell him…_ Just then she reached up the back of her shirt and unclipped something. She pulled something out from under her shirt, which turned out to be a leather pouch. "Do you have something I could write on?" she asked Addy as she leafed through the pouch's contents. She pulled out a photograph of a young woman holding a baby. The woman looked a lot like the mutant girl.

"I have my notebook," Addy replied, handing it and a pencil to the mutant—no wait, not a mutant, Addy reminded herself, a person. A mutant person. Lex, she said she was. Lex the mutant person.

Lex wrote something in block letters on one of the pages of her notebook, and then pressed both it and the photo against the flat surface of the tank glass. She looked at the specimen expectantly, waiting for him to read it. Addy was tempted to listen in on their thoughts again, just to know what was going on, but she decided against it. Nobody liked a nosy person, always listening to things they shouldn't. She could talk, she could ask, she could wait. Suspense developed patience. No need to snoop.

Addy watched the specimen in the tank move himself towards the glass, striving to focus on the items put in front of him despite the drugs in his system. And he did focus on them, with surprising results—emotions flickered across his usually blank face: shock, recollection, fondness, and realization, and then—to Addy's amazement—he broke down crying! Never in her entire time as caretaker had he even winced, let alone cried. But sure enough, sobs wracked his submerged body, shallow and pained because his lungs couldn't move. Behind him a pair of black wings flared out slightly. He nodded emphatically in reply to something, presumably what Lex had written, and then drifted backwards from the glass, exhausted from concentrating so hard.

Addy looked to Lex, who was now quivering. "What did you write?" she asked quietly. Wordlessly Lex handed Addy the notebook, and she read what Lex had written in big, bold letters: MAX IS MY MUM. ARE YOU MY DAD?

"It's him," Lex whispered, "I can't believe it's really him."

* * *

AAAAAAAHHH! *happy* Sorry, I just needed something good to happen. :) Even protagonist-torturing clods like me need a little happiness in their stories now and then. But will the happy be ever after? _That_ is the question! There's still a whole lot more things that are going to go wrong; trust me. *evil grin*


	30. A Beautiful Lie

Hah, this chapter is a definite plot twister. Hopefully, if I've done my job correctly, you'll leave this chapter dumbstruck and impressed. If not, well, it's only fanfiction, right? ;)

* * *

**30 – A Beautiful Lie**

Becca's father turned himself in a day before her threatened execution. Good timing on his part. She hadn't seen him yet, since apparently he was staying in slightly nicer accommodations than this cramped basement cell, but she could hear his voice echoing upstairs sometimes. They were asking him questions—about Itex, about Maximum Ride, about her—but as far as Becca could tell he had been extremely tight-lipped thus far. Apparently scare tactics didn't work on him.

Mr. Lang was getting more and more impatient by the hour. "Do you want your daughter to suffer further?" he warned, "You know where Maximum Ride is, and you will tell us if you want the child to live!"

Becca's dad's response was too quiet for her to hear from downstairs, but she could guess what he was saying; something like, "I can't tell you where she is, but Maximum Ride is not a threat."

"And I know why," Becca murmured darkly to herself, feeling vaguely like a sinister character in a Shakespeare play, "Yes, I know why." Today was the day, she knew; the day to escape. Her father's journal was fully decoded, and she had also drawn another picture of him and Max. All the pieces fell together after that. Becca still had Max's ring hanging around her neck, and she clamped it apprehensively between her fingers. Everything was out in the open, and now was the time to act.

"It's time," she whispered excitedly, clutching a single, sharpened pencil in her right hand. It was unused. It had been two days since Becca had drawn anything, and she was slowly coming apart at the seams. But she didn't mind it; no, this time she embraced it. She wanted to be a little crazy for this. She _needed_ to be a little crazy for this. _You can do this, you have to escape, no more lies, no more lies..._

Just then the guard came downstairs, and Becca hid her pencil from view as he approached the cell. She stood and walked towards the cell bars as the guard unlocked the door. "Your presence is requested upstairs," he declared, swinging the door open and waiting for her to step out.

"Fine," Becca replied coldly, scowling as she took a few steps forward, feeling more and more apprehensive and determined with every footfall. Finally she was within desired range of the guard._ Now, act now!_ And then in one fluid motion Becca swung her pencil and jammed it into the side of the guard's face as hard as she could, forcing the point right through his fleshy cheek. He began to scream, but Becca punched him hard in the throat and screamed also, as if she was being hurt, hoping that his cry would be interpreted as anger rather than pain. That way if they'd heard them from upstairs, Mr. Lang and the other guards would assume that Becca had tried something stupid and was being punished.

With a pencil sticking through his cheek and his vocal cords paralyzed, Becca wasted no time in delivering a swift kick to the head, knocking him to the floor. He stopped stirring, and to be absolutely certain he couldn't follow her Becca stomped down hard on his right foot several times until she felt something snap. He wouldn't chasing anyone anytime soon. She reached down and removed his gun from its holster. "Self-defense lessons and gun training paid off," she mumbled, "Thanks, Dad." Yes, her father had always had much to teach her over the years. And, if Becca had her way, he'd be informing her on a whole lot more extremely soon.

It hadn't taken Becca long to figure out she wasn't staying in a high security prison. She had only ever seen three different guards, not counting Mr. Lang, and the messy concrete and rusty iron bars that formed her cell made her think that she had been placed in this particular building for secrecy rather than security. After all, she wasn't _really_ considered a threat—she was a hostage, or at worst, one of Jeb Batchelder's milder experiments. She was the child of a mad scientist. _The mad scientist's final creation. _

Becca went up the stairs and proceeded quietly down the hall, anticipation and mild insanity lacing every ragged breath she took. When she found the door where voices were coming from—her father's and Mr. Lang's—she turned the door knob slowly, so they'd think that it was the guard calmly leading Becca in. But then the door flew open, and before anyone could react bullets were flying.

Mr. Lang and his other two guards fell to the floor, injured but alive. _They'll recover_, Becca decided, turning her attentions to her stunned father. "What's wrong," she snapped angrily, "sorry to leave so soon?"

"Becca, what are you doing!" Jeb demanded, a contorted expression of horror and anger on his face.

"What are _you_ doing, _Dad?_" She smiled at him with a dangerous glint in her eye.

Jeb eyed the gun warily, and shook his head. "Put that down, you're not thinking clearly. Come on, I'm taking you home."

"NO!" Becca screamed, gripping the trigger a little bit tighter. "I'm not going! I'm tired of being lied to, so now you're going to tell me the truth!"

"The truth about what, Becca?" he asked.

"The truth about you, about me. About Maximum Ride."

Jeb clenched his jaw. "You're not thinking clearly," he repeated slowly, as if she were stupid, "You're delusional again."

"But they weren't really delusions, were they? Not completely." Becca aimed the gun at his head and said, "Go down the hall and down the stairs." He hesitated. "NOW!" Finally her dad obeyed, his eyes still trained on the pistol as she followed him into the basement. "Look at the picture sitting on the bench in the cell," Becca commanded him.

Jeb went inside the cell and picked up the sketch. His face drained of color as he saw the scene. As with Becca's other sketches, it showed him attaching probes to Maximum Ride. This time, however, the picture had zoomed out even further and shifted to the left, so that Max and Jeb were now located on the far right side of the page. In the back-middle of the scene the computer read-out, now complete, showed a complicated series of numbers and energy levels. The wires running between Max and the computer were both transmitting and receiving.

And finally, on the side of the page directly opposite of Max and Jeb, a detail unique to this final picture, there was one more object in the room, lying on a small table on the other side of the room: the body of an infant, dark-haired and hooked up to life support. There was a tiny row of stitches running all the way around the skull, visible under the short, downy hair. Becca reached up into her hair and felt the ridge of scar tissue, which she'd been told was from the car accident that had allegedly killed her mother. "Was it hard getting the body of a brain-dead infant on the black market, _Jeb?_" Her tone cut like razor wire.

"Becca—"

"Don't lie to me, I read your journal!" Her eyes burned with rage and lunacy. "I want to hear you say it, though—I want you to tell me the truth. Start by telling me about the Cutoff."

Jeb's chest heaved heavily, as if a huge weight was being placed on him. But Becca couldn't be dissuaded, and he knew better than to pick a fight with a mentally unstable girl holding a weapon. "Chinese and North American powers had been planning the Cutoff for years," he confessed, "Both sides benefitted: the North Americans would have an undisputed empire under their control, and China would become a key world power by rebuilding the networking industry."

"But Max was in the way. They were scared she'd interfere."

He nodded. "I thought that if I was the one to track her down for the Chinese, I could hide her away humanely instead of killing her or imprisoning her like the higher-ups wanted. I couldn't let them kill her; not after losing Ari." For a split second it looked like he might cry, but he held himself together, knowing he'd receive no sympathy from Becca. "So I gave her a new life, a chance to start over. I stole some of the technology the North Americans were going to use to help establish their new world order, a neural-electrical interfacing network that allows human brains to function as computer servers that send and receive information. I used it to transmit her thought patterns into a surrogate body, and placed developmental and memory caps so that she wouldn't remember the past or realize she was different from other children."

"But the caps didn't work properly, did they?" Becca asserted, "She still had flashbacks. Visions, recreations of things she'd experienced in the past. She had impulses to do dangerous things because her brain was used to functioning at a higher level, so it was trying to compensate."

"Becca—"

Her voice grew louder. "But you thought you had it under control, didn't you? As long as Max was isolated and had her artwork to help channel the memories, she was able to live a normal life. But you didn't count on Max's _daughter_ being right next door, did you?"

"Won't you—"

"No more denial, Jeb!" Becca screamed, "Don't lie to me! I'm the surrogate body, aren't I? _I'm Max!_"

There was a long silence, a snap in the tension that hung in the air. Jeb's face betrayed everything: he was completely wrecked, now forced to face what he had done. "I didn't know Max—you—were pregnant when you disappeared," he rasped brokenly, "But then we moved next door to the Hardlys, who had a little girl that looked uncannily like you and Fang, I figured out where you'd been all those months," he faltered, but then finished, "You two made such a connection, and it seemed cruel to separate you again."

A great pressure released in Becca's mind, the confusion and anger melting into a numb sense of loss. The loss of everything Jeb had taken from her all those years ago. Silent tears were streaming down her face as she pleaded, "Take me to the Itex building."

"But it's under heavy surveillance—"

"I know about the second building, Jeb!" She scowled at him, and gripped the gun tighter, "Now let's go upstairs, take Mr. Lang's car keys, and get going."

* * *

Becca and Jeb remained mostly silent as they drove out of Beijing, past the Itex building, and down a small dirt road to a smaller laboratory reserved for special projects. "Don't you dare drive me to the wrong place," Becca uttered, "or I'll shoot you."

"I know," Jeb said quietly.

They arrived at the grey, boxy building and went inside, Jeb having all the passwords they needed to enter the various rooms and corridors. "Here we are," he informed her softly, unlocking a plain steel door. He swung it open, revealing the room Becca had drawn. It was almost exactly the same as she'd imagined it—even Jeb's lab coat with the nametag hung on the wall. How her brain had managed to recreate this scene from memory, she had no idea.

And then at the far end of the room she saw herself.

There was Max, lying horizontally inside a tank filled with green liquid of some sort. She still had the probes attached to her temple and the back of her neck, and there was a white mask strapped over her face. There were a series of tubes and large canisters attached to the tank, feeding her and keeping her alive. It was like a twisted version of Snow White's glass coffin, Becca thought.

"Unhook her." She commanded Jeb. He tried to object, but she insisted, "This is my choice!"

"Fine," Jeb relented, walking towards the computer desk.

Becca's eyes wandered around the room, trying to take in all the new yet familiar details. Unfortunately, that was just enough time for Jeb to pull another gun out of a desk drawer and point it at her. Her eyes darted back towards Jeb, and she froze.

"I'm sorry, Becca," he told her gently, "but I'm taking you back home. I'll make some adjustments, fix things so you'll never know this happened. I can make the visions go away this time."

"Becca is a lie," she snarled in response, "I'm Max." She stiffened her hold on the gun.

"Shoot me if you want, but I'll shoot back," Jeb cautioned, "and if the surrogate body dies because there's no one here to administer medical help, you'll stay trapped in that tank for the rest of your life. Your brain will keep trying to send signals to a useless transmitter."

"I see." After going to such lengths to free herself, Becca found herself trapped yet again. There was nowhere left to turn. Slowly she lowered the gun, and Jeb sighed in relief.

"Now put the gun on the floor and kick it over to me," he instructed, waiting anxiously for her to surrender her weapon.

Becca's fingers slowly began to loosen their grip on the gun, which hung uselessly by her side. A little looser and it would fall to the floor with a clatter. "Don't make me do this," she begged him. "I don't want to go back." Jeb just stared at her with sorry eyes and kept waiting.

Becca lowered her head resignedly, but then slowly took the gun into both of her hands. She examined it for a short while. "I can't go back," she whispered, the words passing her lips almost silently. She grasped onto the trigger again, and before Jeb could do anything Becca pointed the barrel of the gun at the underside her jaw and fired. There was a loud bang as the gun went off.

"No!" Jeb shouted, lurching forward towards Becca's collapsing body. It fell to the floor with a thud, the transmitter housed inside the skull now completely destroyed. "No..." he whimpered, kneeling and taking Becca's bloody form into his lap. Time seemed to stop as Becca's empty corpse grew still with death. She hadn't felt a thing, not even a twinge. The damage to the hardware and neural connections was irreparable, Jeb was certain of that. She was gone, just like that—the new beginning he had worked so hard to create had vanished with the pull of a trigger.

Just then a second pair of arms reached down, covered in a slick green tinge. Max_._ She had freed herself from the suspension tank. Her fingers were shaky but strong, and they maneuvered to the back of Becca's neck and removed her wedding ring from the body. Jeb followed the ring as it was lifted by the tether and brought up to Max's pale form. Max looked closely at the ring, smiled a little, and then put it on, tying the leather string so the band hung from her throat like a pendant.

Then she looked down at Jeb, her eyes burning with bottled up fury. "You had no right, Jeb," she said in a low, angry voice, "You had no right to do that to me."

Jeb felt emotions well up inside of him: fear, shame, anger, hurt. "I was trying to save your life," he insisted, heart aching, "I gave you a second chance, a fresh start, and you just threw it away!"

"Second chances are for people with regrets. I don't regret my life." And without saying another word she walked out the door.

Jeb was too stunned to say or do anything else, so he just sat motionless for several hours next to the shell he had called Becca. Such a beautiful lie, he thought sadly. Why did the truth always have a way of coming out?

Eventually, though, Jeb had to get up and do something. He took the body and gave it a decent burial, purchasing a spot in a local graveyard. No family, no flowers, just a father's silent grief and a beautiful headstone:

~REBECCA ARIA THOMPSON~

YOUR LIFE WAS A LIE

BUT NOW YOU FLY WITH ANGEL WINGS

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*smiles sweetly* So, did you see that one coming? ;)

Feel free to let me know what you're thinking right now—seriously, I've been dying to see how that plot twist would go over with my readers. XD And if any of you guessed who/what Becca was before this chapter, major kudos! (Edit: **ShortLittlePixie** got it a few chapters back. Good one!)


	31. Relations Old and New

Hello, loyal readers! Glad to see you've come back for another chapter. ;) And by the looks of some of your responses, I caught you off guard with that most recent twist. Good; that means I'm achieving the effect I want. :D Now that Max is back on the board things are going to really get going!

But back to Lex and the others for now—the title really says it all for this one. :P Enjoy.

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**31 – Relations Old and New**

"Addy, you have to listen to me!"

"No, no-no-no! Sorry, I'm sorry, no! I can't, they'll process me! I can't..."

This went on for several minutes as Addy and I argued over the mutant in the tank in front of us—my father, Fang, apparently. He was unconscious at the moment, while I, on the other hand, was more awake than ever. "Addy, you don't understand!" I appealed desperately, "This is my father, I'm sure of it! He's been missing since before I was born, and I've come all this way to find him and my mum!"

"But they'll take me," Addy whispered, trembling, "They'll take me and process me! And what about all the other specimens? It seems so unfair, leaving them here..."

"We can free the others!" I told her, "Then they can all escape into the mountains."

"W-what about me?"

"We can take you with us."

"You'd do that?" Addy asked, a doubtful look in her eye. "No one wants me around. I'm too much trouble, they say."

"Addy, you're as important as anyone," I insisted, trying to make her feel wanted, "You'll come with us."

"Well…" Addy's lips pressed into something like a smile, "I-I'd really like that. You're nice, and I hate it here. It's so lonely here... I used to have a family, but they didn't like me. Not really. Too much of a liability. But I like you—you're nice. Though I guess I already said that." Concern crossed her face again. "Oh, but what if your friends don't like me? I don't know if I'm very likeable, and they might be mad about getting chased by Collectors."

_This gal really needs a self-confidence boost,_ I thought, _and maybe an offline social life._ "They'll like you just fine," I assured her, smiling a little. "But how about we do something about the mutants?"

Addy led me out of the viewing corridor and to the back service area, where all the filter controls and such were located. She showed me how to lower the tanks into a horizontal position, turn off the sedative supply, administer drugs to re-start the specimens' lungs, and then half-drain the tanks so that the mutants would have air to breathe. We did this for the entire Gallery collection, except for the mutants that Addy said were too unstable to live or move outside of a controlled environment. There must have been at least a couple hundred we prepped for release, I estimated.

"They probably won't begin stirring until morning," Addy told me, "but they're all breathing again. We'll drain the tanks completely and rinse them off—that green stuff is gross when it's all dried out—and then when they wake up we can go to storage and find the clothes they came here in. Oh, I hope their old clothes still fit—"

_BOOM!_

Out of nowhere an explosion sent shockwaves through the building, echoing in the hallways as if the Gallery had just sneezed. The lights flickered off and Addy screamed, clutching the rims of her wheels in a death grip. I, on the other hand, was eager to see where the blast came from. "C'mon," I told Addy, grabbing the handles of her wheelchair and forcibly pushing her out into the dark hall. As I navigated the twisting hallway, I could hear voices echoing in the distance.

"_Hah, sometimes the primitive answer is the best one. Good thinking, Hunt."_

"_Two explosions in two days? You guys…"_

"_Split up, we'll find Lex more quickly that way! Don't forget your flashlight!"_

I smiled at the hollowed was the others, back to rescue me!

"Those are my friends!" I exclaimed to Addy. I was about to push her onward again when suddenly someone turned the corner, blinding me with a flashlight.

"Lex!" The male voice called to me.

I squinted against the light. "Hunt?"

"Yeah, it's me."

I grinned, happy to see him again. "Hey! I want you to meet—"

"Adelaide?" Hunt lowered the flashlight, and I was able to see the amazed/confused expression on his face.

Addy, too, seemed to be in disbelief. "Fitzhunter? What are you—" Before she even had a chance to finish Hunt ran forward and hugged her excitedly. Apparently the two knew each other from somewhere else.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," he told Addy.

"Me neither," Addy replied quietly, hugging him back.

"How do you know each other?" I asked Hunt, eying them both curiously.

"Lex," he told me with a grin, as he ended the embrace and right himself, "Addy's my sister. She's been gone since I was nine." Addy nodded in confirmation. I took a metaphorical step back and did a double-take: serious, strongly-built Hunt was the younger brother of frail, scatterbrained Addy? I could not see the family resemblance at all.

Still, I was happy for them both. "That's great," I told them, and I explained to Hunt, "I told Addy she could come with us so she wouldn't get in trouble for releasing the mutants in the Gallery. There's so much I need to tell you guys!"

Hunt nodded in agreement. "Us too. Let's go find the others," he suggested, grasping the handles of Addy's chair and wheeling her back in the direction he'd come from. I followed behind, eager to let everyone know that I'd found Fang.

As we were walking, though, I remembered what Addy called out when she saw Hunt, and I realized something:_ Hunt's first name is Fitzhunter?_ Ouch.

* * *

We were reunited with the others at a convergence point in the hallway, and we all swapped stories about what had happened to us in the past week or so. I was sorry to hear about Ella (poor Iggy still looked red-rimmed from crying), but it was impossible to stay upset when I told them about Fang. We also made some new introductions.

"Who's this?" Gazzy asked, looking at Addy with interest.

"I'm Addy Axely, Fi—"

"She's Hunt's sister," I cut in, shooting Hunt a knowing glance. He gave me a quick nod, and mouthed, '_thank you'_. I'd probably end up using the knowledge as blackmail later, but you can't blame the guy for trying to keep his name a secret. _Fitzhunter Axely..._ it sounded like a name out of a Jane Austen book. I smiled at the thought; Hunt in a classical romance novel? Not likely.

"Are you... like Lex?" Addy asked Gazzy shyly, eying the others.

He nodded and quipped warmly, "Yup, just your average bunch of mutant freaks."

"I-I don't mind," Addy told him, smiling a little, "I'm used to being around freaks. Oh—that's not what I meant! Oh, sorry, sorry..."she blushed and stared down at her lap bashfully.

Gazzy smiled. "It's fine, really. If anyone's a freak, it's definitely me." He grinned sheepishly.

Once things had calmed down and info had been swapped, everyone pitched in helping me and Addy finish prepping the mutants for release—rinsing them off, finding them clothes, and various other chores that needed doing. Afterwards we ate a dinner of canned goods and dumpster findings, and then we found a long stretch of hallway to camp out in for the night. Addy, of course, stayed in her own bedroom.

That night I was totally and completely unable to fall asleep. It was frustrating, since I wanted to be up first thing to meet Fang when he woke up tomorrow, but I couldn't stop thinking about it! And when you're thinking about something too hard while you're trying to sleep, rest becomes impossible. My brain was on overtime.

After about an hour of tossing and turning, I finally just sat up and leaned against a wall. It turns out Hunt was already sitting against the same wall. I guess he couldn't sleep either. "Some day this has turned out to be," I commented unceremoniously, scooting towards him. "I can't even fall asleep."

"Me neither," Hunt admitted. "It's just... weird. Losing Ella and then finding Addy, I mean. I'm not sure whether I feel happy or sad."

"Ella was an amazing person," I told him sympathetically.

Hunt nodded abruptly, and muttered, "She _is_ an amazing person—she's not dead yet."

There was a period of silence, and then I thought of something to say. "So, I guess you've been to the West after all. Addy told me about your dad."

"Yeah," Hunt grimaced.

"He works for the Supremacy?"

He nodded. "He helped organize the initial invalid processing that happened right after the Barrier went up, but he eventually got promoted to research and containment. That's how he got Addy the job here, I think."

"And you didn't tell anyone about this?"

"Ella, Iggy, and Nina knew." Hunt sighed. "It's not something I want everyone in the CSM to know about, if you know what I mean. I don't want everyone to think I'm some spoiled brat who had a falling out with his parents and went running to the CSM just to make them angry, " there was a fierce expression in his eyes, "I joined the CSM because I knew what the Supremacy was doing was wrong. When my dad sent Addy away because she was disabled… I hated it. And I hated that he made other people feel that way for a living."

"So you ran away and got taken in by the Griffiths."

"And the rest is history." Hunt smiled weakly. "Any more questions about my disgraceful family background?"

"Well, I was kind of wondering about your full name..." I shot him a mischievous look.

Hunt rolled his eyes and groaned. "Please, don't ever say it out loud. Ever. My parents had three kids before I was born—clearly they'd run out of good names when they got to me." He smirked and muttered, "At least you didn't hear my middle name."

I lit up with curiosity. "You mean you're not going to tell me?"

"Nope."

"I could always ask Addy."

"I swore her to secrecy."

"Well that's not fair," I pouted.

"That's life."

Another silent pause, and a vague sense of déjà vu from our conversation on the ski lift. I considered making another joke about his name to spur on the conversation, but I decided against it when I noticed the thoughtful expression on his face. He was trying to make his mind up about something. "What are you thinking about?" I asked him.

Hunt exhaled, seeming both grateful and anxious that I'd enquired. "I was thinking of asking you a question," he confessed.

Now I was doubly curious. "A question? What is it?"

"I'm still not sure I want to ask you."

I shrugged, pretending not to care. "Okay then." I studied his face a bit longer, trying to read his expression. A complete poker face if I ever saw one. Since I couldn't seem to pick anything else up from him, I decided to venture down a thought path of my own. "I've been doing some thinking too, actually."

Hunt looked at me expectantly. "About what?"

"I never got to thank you and Nina for rescuing me, or thank you for taking me West, or say thanks for any of the other stuff your family has done for me."

"They're not really _my_ family."

"Sure they are," I told him, "family are the people who are always there for you."

"I suppose," he replied, pondering what I had just said. "You know," he mentioned, "I never thanked you either, for saving my life."

I tried just to shrug casually, but the corners of my turned up into a faint smile. "It's nothing. You'd have done the same thing, if you were a mutant freak with gills and zapping powers."

We laughed a little at my remark, and Hunt told me, "You're definitely not like most girls, Lex Hardly."

"Hence the term 'mutant freak', Hunt Axely," I retorted correspondingly.

Hunt smiled again, and shook his head. "That's not what I meant." He was silent for another spell, the thoughtful expression returning to his face again. "I decided I want to ask you that question," he announced.

"Alright then," I said, my interest peaked. "What is it?"

Hunt took a deep breath before speaking, as if what he was trying to say was going to be difficult to get out. "Would you... I mean, if we actually get out of this alive... ugh, s-sorry," he stammered, sounding a bit like his sister, "I'm bad at this." He took another deep breath and then tried again, "What would you say if a guy told you he'd like to get to know you better?"

My heart nearly stopped. "As in seeing each other? Like, romantically?" I asked.

"Um, yeah." He blushed slightly.

"I guess it would depend on the guy asking," I replied, trying to sound clever. Mostly, though, I was trying to buy myself more time to process what was happening.

"Well what if the guy was me?" Hunt spoke more confidently this time, looking me in the eyes. "I like you, Lex. A lot. I know you don't know me very well, but I was hoping... I was hoping maybe you liked me too." He paused, waiting for my response.

I had maybe three seconds left to figure this out before things got awkwardly silent. Honestly, I hadn't really considered how I felt about Hunt; and even if I had stopped and thought about it, I was clueless when it came to boys—spending your entire life practically hiding from the world kind of shelters you from the dating scene. I guess maybe I liked him? At least a little? I definitely couldn't say I _dis_liked him. There was no denying that Hunt had a certain appeal. But did that count as 'being in like'?

Some part of me must have known how I felt, at least, because before I knew what was happening my mouth started moving and I replied, "Well, I suppose if a guy told me he'd like to get to know me better, and that guy happened to be you," I smiled shyly, "I think I'd like to get to know him better too." For a minute I thought I might die, until I realized I felt a little… good. A guy had just asked me out, and I'd said yes. And I felt good about it.

In the meantime, Hunt's nervous wince had broken into a massive grin. "I... wow." He breathed a sigh of relief. "I don't know what else to say."

"Tell me about it," I murmured bashfully, a big smile creeping onto my face. _Hunt just asked me out, and I said yes. _My mind still felt too shocked/fuzzy/good/confused to do anything, and my stomach was invaded by the world's largest butterfly army. I guess _do_ like him, I decided. This had to be worth a shot.

After I'd given my answer, though, a concern came to mind and I had to ask, "But wait, what about Nina? I mean, I know you guys are just friends, but I wouldn't want to accidentally hurt her feelings or anything like that. Girls are funny that way sometimes," I explained to him.

Hunt muttered something under his breath in response, but I didn't catch it. "What did you say?" I asked.

"I said," Hunt annunciated in a louder voice, "that Nina put me up to this." He blushed an even deeper shade of pink.

I raised my eyebrows at the news of my cousin's matchmaking. "Really, now?" Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw Nina's supposedly sleeping form shift slightly. Why was I not surprised?

Finally Hunt and I said goodnight to each other and stretched back out on the hallway floor (a good distance apart, of course) to try and catch some shuteye. Not that we'd actually be able to. I rolled over to Nina, who had a sly grin on her face. "Thanks a lot, Nina," I whispered quietly enough that no one else would hear, "You just made sleeping twice as impossible."

Without opening her eyes, Nina whispered back, "It's so obvious that there's chemistry between you two, Lex. You're just both too clueless about the opposite sex to see it." Then she stopped talking and resumed her sleeping act. I scowled slightly, but I knew I couldn't stay mad at her. After all, she was probably right.


	32. How Long I've Waited

Well, this chapter has its emotions too, but it's not all lovey-dovey. So don't worry, Fwa, you can put the barf bucket away for the first couple of sections. ;) But I sort of compensate for the fluffiness at the end.

* * *

**32 – How Long I've Waited**

"Lex... Lex..."

"Hmmm...?" Reluctantly I pried my eyes open and looked up. It was Iggy, telling me to get up.

"Your dad's awake," he told me, "he's just getting dressed."

"What!" I sprung up off the floor. "Why didn't anyone get me up sooner?"

"Nina said you and Hunt were having trouble sleeping last night, so we let you rest a little longer."

_Of course. _I shot a dirty look at Nina, who pretended not to notice. Hunt was already up, leaning nonchalantly against one of the now-empty tanks. They must have let all the other mutants out while I was asleep—the place was deserted, and the tanks had been hoisted back into their places in the wall. I assumed that once they had gotten dressed and re-oriented themselves they had fled through the hole that Gazzy and Iggy had blown in the side of the building.

But anyways, more about Hunt and his nonchalant leaning. He didn't notice me watching at first, staring at him almost in disbelief. _Did last night really happen? _I half-wondered. _It almost seems like a dream. A good dream, but... _And then I caught his attention, and he smiled at me. I felt my heart melt a little, and I gave a little smile back. Nope, last night had definitely been real. What kinds of dates do CSM rebels go on, anyways? Do they run around and beat up Collectors together or something?

Just then Addy, who had been in another part of the building, wheeled around the corner and declared, "Here he is!" And then _he_ stepped out from around the corner too. He was dressed in black, and a silver wedding ring dangled from his neck. I couldn't believe it was actually him.

Fang. My dad. Co-redeemer of the world as we know it.

Wow.

The scene played in front of me like a movie, like I was standing ten feet away from the screen and watching everything unfold at a distance. At first Fang kept a straight face, exchanging a few words as calmly and naturally as if he'd just stepped out to the grocery store for an hour instead of disappearing for nearly two decades. But then the Flock—Gazzy, Nudge, and Iggy—ran towards him and enveloped him in a group hug, and the facade melted. He broke into an elated grin and held his family close for the first time in over sixteen years.

I knew those expressions, that smile; I could see them when I looked into a mirror.

And then he saw me.

The Flock finally let go of Fang, and his smile faded, replaced with the same blankness from before. He looked at me for a few seconds, still trying to come to terms with who I was. I stood frozen in his sight, gazing back at him with equal incomprehensiveness. _Father...daughter...love...together..._ They were words that must have been running through both of our heads as we stood there like stone statues. We were both numb, running cold with emotions we didn't fully understand. Cold like ice. Everyone else watched silently, waiting to see what we would do.

And then I broke down. Only half-aware of what I was doing, I started running towards Fang as fast as I could, like if I didn't move quickly enough I'd lose him all over again. I threw myself into his equally desperate embrace and clung to him fiercely, the lifetime of separation pressing deeply on both of us. He held me tight, and I felt tears begin to streak down my face. "You don't know how long I've waited to meet you," I sobbed, burying my face in his shoulder.

I could feel Fang sobbing too, also overwhelmed. "I knew it, I just knew it," he whispered over and over again. We stayed like that way, embracing and crying, for a very long time.

* * *

Eventually we got ourselves together enough to leave the abandoned Gallery behind—that is, someone from the miniature army of Collectors stationed near the Gallery (which the others knocked out and bound up on their way in) had escaped his bindings and freed his comrades—and we took off into the mountains again. Addy was light enough that Gazzy was able to carry her by himself, and Hunt was carried by Iggy and Fang. (I call him that because it would be too awkward, addressing someone other than my adopted father as 'Dad'. So for now I'll just call him Fang.)

Once we thought we were far enough away from the Gallery, we settled down on a nice mountain ledge that had a steep shelf of rock on one side and sloped down on the other side towards thick woods and a swiftly running river. We set up camp quickly, and then we spent the rest of the day celebrating and getting to know one another better. I ended up sitting next to Fang at the campfire that evening, as we feasted on whatever animal the guys had caught in the woods.

"I thought that Max was pregnant," Fang commented to me, "I guess I was right."

"So you haven't seen her since you were captured?" I asked, discouraged.

Fang shook his head. "But at least I know she made it out of the attack alive. I spent all these years wondering about that day... I just hope she's okay right now."

"We'll find her," I assured him.

He nodded confidently, as if he'd never thought anything otherwise. "So, the couple that raised you, the Hardlys," Fang inquired, "They were good to you?"

I nodded. "I still miss them a lot." More hesitantly I asked him, "You don't mind if I keep their last name, do you?"

Fang gave me a sort of half-smile, and assured me, "It's fine. We have a lenient naming policy in this family." Hearing his answer, I breathed a sigh of relief. It would be too weird changing my last name to Ride now. I'm Lex Hardly, and that's just the way it is.

"This is really good," I turned and told Iggy, since he'd both caught and cooked the meal. I never imagined that a wild animal could taste this good, whatever it was—the guys had never mentioned, and when they brought it back it had already been skinned. Maybe I was better off not knowing.

At my compliment Iggy grinned and declared, "Never let it be said that a blind guy can't go hunting." He picked up a stick on the ground next to him and waved it triumphantly, like a spear.

"It's not that you can't hunt, Iggy," Gazzy pointed out, rolling his eyes, "so much as you shouldn't."

"You're just jealous 'cause you didn't catch anything," Iggy gloated, "With ears like mine, missing my target isn't a possibility."

"Other than the three times you ran into a tree out there?" Addy added quietly, reading his thoughts. Iggy's proud expression deflated quickly, and everyone laughed. Addy smiled, and shifted slightly in her seat. We'd brought her wheelchair along, but she still had enough feeling in her hips and upper legs that she was able to sit on the ground with the rest of us.

"Whoever caught it," Nudge mentioned, "It tastes awesome. Your cooking's still as amazing as ever, Ig."

"Leave it to Dad to make living in the bush a gourmet experience," Nina quipped.

Just then Iggy raised his piece of mystery meat and toasted, "Here's to our emo bird boy, Fang! May he have many years of non-captivity ahead of him." Fang rolled his eyes. Then Iggy added, "And also to Lex, who set this whole thing into motion." He grinned in my direction and told me, "You kick up as much trouble as your parents."

"Um, thanks?" I shook my head and smiled, and then leaned over to Nina and asked quietly, "Do you know what 'emo' means?"

She shrugged. "One of those weird words adults use."

* * *

The hour was late and everyone grew tired, so finally they decided that it was time to go to bed. There were only four blankets, so everyone split into pairs—Iggy and Hunt with one blanket, Fang and Gazzy with another (Fang lost the draw), Nudge and Addy with the third blanket, and Lex and Nina with the last one. A night watch schedule was also set up so that there would be someone awake at all times, ready to warn the others if a helicopter came around looking for them.

Hunt was on watch duty at two in the morning, sitting idly in front of the fire's glowing remains. _We shouldn't have lit a fire,_ he thought, his cautious habits flaring a little, _the smoke and light might alert the enemy to where we are. _But even he, the epitome of procedure and vigilance, couldn't be bothered to care at the moment. He was too excited by what had happened in the past couple of weeks—it had been years since something this adventurous had happened to him. The only escapade in his life that came close to now was when he was twelve and he ran away from home. But no, the last two weeks had definitely been the most dangerous, most exhilarating time of his life.

Out of the corner of his eye Hunt could see Nina and Lex snuggled up together under a worn-out wool blanket, both looking uncharacteristically peaceful as they slept. He smiled at the sight; Nina had been like a sister to him since they were young, and they had always been close, but he knew that she was thrilled to have a girl her age around to talk to. Lex was practically her new best buddy.

As for Lex... Hunt was still in disbelief that he'd actually asked her out, and that she'd actually said yes. After all, until recently he had been a total stranger to her; not to mention she was completely out of his league. But after escaping from the processing camp, he and Nina had discussed his feelings for Lex...

"_You like her, don't you?" Nina confronted him, wiggling her eyebrows implicatively._

_Hunt tried to keep a straight face, though on the inside he felt like running in the other direction. "How would you know?" He told her, "The only time you saw us together was those first couple of days, when she was at the farm."_

"_So?" Nina pointed out, "Even then you couldn't stop staring at her—there was at least a small crush forming." She was right on that point, but Hunt didn't dare admit it. "But that's not what I'm talking about. You're always bringing her up in conversations, like you're looking for an excuse to talk about her, and when you tell me about your trip West together you seem so... _awed_ by her. You like her, a lot."_

_Of course, he couldn't lie to her for long. "She saved my life," Hunt said coldly, "It's just a phase, I'm sure."_

_A smile played at Nina's lips. "Maybe, maybe not. You'll never know unless you try."_

"_Try?" He looked at her quizzically._

"_Ask her out when we find her."_

"_What!"_

"_Why not?"_

"_Nina, we've gone over this a thousand times before; you do this whenever I come within ten feet of a female my own age."_

"_Yes," she admitted, "but this time you're actually _attracted_ to the female! For someone as sexually repressed as you, that's huge!"_

Thanks a lot, Nina,_ Hunt thought, rolling his eyes. Nina had made it clear many times that she was displeased with his lack of interest in girls. "I'm not asking her out," he declared adamantly, "Besides, just being friends is a better way to get to know someone anyways."_

_Nina looked at him flatly. "Hunt, you rescued the girl from certain peril, escorted her across the country in a dangerous and dramatic fashion, and then said girl gave you the kiss of life underneath a bridge after rescuing you from a sunken transporter. Call me crazy, but I think that counts as a crash-course in Friendship 101. What else do you need to know about her? Taking the relationship to the next level wouldn't be such a far cry, I'd think."_

_Hunt could feel his resolve waiver a little. "You think I should?" he asked, after a moment of hesitation._

_Nina gave him another irritated look, since in her eyes the answer to that question was the most obvious thing in the world. "Hunt, she's a genetically-engineered winged beauty with two international heroes for parents. She has cool powers, a foreign accent, and a great personality to boot. What do you think all the other guys in the CSM will be thinking when they find out about her? Not to mention her life is full of constant peril these days. If you don't ask Lex out the next time you see her, she'll either be dead or taken the next time the topic comes up."_

"_I... I guess I could ask her," Hunt concluded reluctantly._

"_Of course you could!" Nina grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him roughly. "Think about it: You, Hunt, have a chance to be the boyfriend of Maximum Ride's daughter!"_

"_Assuming she actually says yes," he muttered. Still, the prospect _was_ rather appealing._

"_Trust me," Nina reassured him with a knowing grin, "you two are perfect for each other—she's as relationship-challenged as you are! Just give it a try, and I'm sure something good will come out of this." _

And since Nina had always been right about people in the past, Hunt had no reason to doubt her advice. Still, actually asking the question had been like jumping off a cliff—and not the flashy human-avian I'm-jumping-cause-it-makes-me-look-even-cooler-than-I-already-am-since-I-have-wings way, but the average oh-snap-I'm-going-to-throw-up-in-mid-air-and-then-die way.

But then she said yes, and then he'd stopped falling and started flying.

Hunt thought that Lex was absolutely amazing. At first, it had just been a trivial crush—she was drop-dead gorgeous and her parents were practically the gods of the CSM, so feeling an attraction to her wasn't a huge surprise. It would pass soon enough, he had thought. But the couple of days she'd stayed with the Griffiths and the time they spent together on the journey West, had made Hunt like Lex for her own merits. She was nice; she was smart; she was exotic; she'd saved his life.

He could still remember waking up under the bridge, his nerves on fire and his lungs ready to burst like water balloons. She had been there, kneeling next to him and holding his hand as he emptied his watery contents and struggled to breathe again. He remembered looking up at Lex, her expression every bit as confused and ill as he felt. She was drenched from head to toe, her wet hair clung to her head like a dead animal, and she was shaking with cold and fear. And she had been absolutely beautiful.

Just a couple years ago Ella had been talking to Hunt, telling him things he'd need to know now that he was getting older and might want to find a special someone, about what he needed look for in a girl: kindness, intelligence, loyalty, and honor. Hunt had laughed and told Ella that he would never fall in love—that his heart and soul belonged to the CSM—but Ella had just smiled at him knowingly back then and said "We'll see."

And that day under the bridge, when Lex brought him back from the dead, Hunt realized he had fallen hard, that his heart now belonged to Lex and Lex alone. She was everything Ella had told him to look for in a girl. He was a little mad at himself for feeling so hopelessly in love with someone he barely knew, but at the same time he liked stepping away from his normal, guarded self and feeling something that couldn't be controlled—something he hoped was real.

Would their budding relationship lead to anything serious? There was no way of knowing. But Lex had chosen him, Fitzhunter W. Axely, out of all the guys in the CSM who would be with her in a heartbeat, and he wasn't about to blow his chance.

Hunt's reflections came to an end, however, when was brought back to earth by a sharp pain in the side of his neck.

* * *

Aw, don't you just hate random pains in the side of your neck? :( Sorry Hunt, but it had to be done. (And no, Leela, I'm not drugging him and delivering him to your front door. Find another fictional boy to yearn after.)

*cackles evilly* Now we get back to the tumultuous part of the story! }:D


	33. Hunt to Survive?

Okay, I'm in a good mood today, so I decided to post the next chapter. XD Things are about to get dire.

* * *

**33 – Hunt to Survive?**

Hunt jumped up from his seat and looked around, his hand flying up to the side of his neck. He felt something embedded there, so he grasped it between his fingers and pulled it out. _A tranquilizer dart!_ Even now the world was starting to spin, and as he faltered a team of Collectors slipped of the shadows slipped —they were silent and sudden, like an evil spirit.

Even though he felt ready to drop to the ground at any second, Hunt took a step forward, determined not to drift off just yet. He tried swinging punches at the nearest Collector, who dodged the blows easily. Hunt was useless against them. He was just an ordinary human, after all; a drugged human, no less.

"Prepare them for transport!" one of the Collectors told the others, "Empress Angel wants the mutants brought to her immediately. Humans may be left dead or alive." He was obviously directing that latter comment at Hunt.

A couple of Collectors got impatient with Hunt's drunken antics and pulled their knives out, waving them menacingly and driving Hunt away from the rest of the group. Already the Collectors had drugged the others and were carrying them away on foot, probably to a nearby transporter. They were also taking away all of their supplies and belongings. _How did they get here? How am I still awake?_ Hunt's vision was going dark, and as the Collectors took wide swipes at him with their knives, he stumbled further backwards in an attempt to avoid them. He was getting closer and closer to the plateau's edge in the process.

Finally there was about three inches between Hunt and the edge. _I can't do this, _he thought, succumbing to the darkness. His legs gave out from under him and he crumpled over the edge, tumbling down the embankment. Rocks and bushes cut him to tatters as he rolled out of site and towards the rushing river below.

"Did he fall in?" One of the Collectors asked, peering down.

"I couldn't see," another one replied, "The trees were blocking my view."

"Leave him," The head Collector barked, "If the river or the fall didn't kill him, the elements will." And then they disappeared into the darkness together, leaving no trace of the camp that had once been there except a charred ring of ashes.

* * *

Angel waited in anticipation for her family to wake up. She'd been worried when she'd received news that Fang had been busted out of the Gallery—by the Flock and company, obviously—but she'd sent out a search party quickly enough that it hadn't become an issue. If anything, the escape attempt had been a help, since it meant the rest of the Flock had come together in one place.

The key to their successful capture had been stealth. Angel had lost count of the number of enemies who had underestimated the Flock and tried to apprehend them by brute force. You had to go in quietly, taking them down before they had a chance to defend themselves. The fact that they'd had that human boy on watch duty instead of a mutant had made things ridiculously easy, according to the Collector report.

Of course, Angel realized, Iggy wouldn't be very happy that they'd lost Hunt. But then again, he hadn't been happy about losing Ella either. He'd find some healing and stability eventually, perhaps when she located the rest of his children and delivered them safely to the palace.

Finally a doctor came through the door and told her, "They're awake now."

Angel gave him a nod of acknowledgment, and then entered the room. There they were: Fang, Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy, and Nina, all strapped down to their hospital beds—for their own safety, of course. She didn't want them to wake up in a panic and do something they'd regret later. "Fang," she exclaimed warmly, "I'm so glad you're alright!"

"Angel!" Everyone cried.

"You escaped!" Gazzy exclaimed, "Quick, untie us before someone else comes."

"In a moment, Gazzy. I don't think you know what's happened," Angel explained slowly and concisely so that they would understand, "I had you brought here. I've taken over the Supremacy's minds!"

"What!"

She nodded. "I've been in charge for about a week, I think."

"If you've been in charge of the empire for a week," Nudge asked suspiciously, "then why have we had to sneak around and bust our people out of government buildings? And what about everyone else? I don't see Lex, Hunt, or Addy here."

"Yeah," Gazzy asked, "Shouldn't you be freeing the masses and creating a new world order or something?"

"And what about Ella? Where is she in all of this?" Iggy was clearly agitated.

"Don't you understand?" Angel declared emphatically, throwing her hands up, "I rule our entire world! We don't have to worry about the CSM, or about the humans, or about hiding all the time. We're safe now. We don't have to worry about anyone else."

Everyone fell silent, stunned by Angel's declaration. But couldn't they see all that she had done for them? They didn't have to live in fear of being killed or captured anymore; they could stay here with her, in the palace! The lords and ladies of Empress Angel, or even better: they could accompany her on her journey to the outside, in search of Max.

Iggy was the first one to find words again. "Has it occurred to you," he told her in a low, angry voice, "that we might actually _care_ about all the normal humans? About what happens to the rest of the empire?"

Angel scowled at him. "You're just saying that because your wife is normal. But don't you see," she maintained, "it's never been about the normal humans. It's been about _us_, and keeping _us_ safe. Ella was useful for a time, Iggy, but now she's a danger to the safety I've created for us. For your kids."

"They're Ella's kids too." He turned his empty, irate gaze in Angel's direction, aligning his face with hers perfectly. "I love her."

_She's a common human and doesn't deserve your love, _Angel thought to herself, but she didn't dare say it into Iggy's face. He would have to realize that fact in his own time. "Now, who here wants to help me find Max? I've been doing some searching, and I found a way through the Barrier. We can sail together, and search for Max on the outside."

"Not without Ella I won't," Iggy muttered, glowering at Angel.

"Same," Nina spat, "I want Mom and Hunt back."

"You'd give up a world of opportunities for a couple of humans, Nina?" Angel asked the foolish girl.

Nina snarled at her, "You really don't get this, do you? They're my _family!_ Besides, we're all still humans, even if we do have wings. _You_ are just too caught up in your own megalomania to notice." It was a reply that Max herself would be proud of, though of course Angel couldn't fully appreciate that fact.

"Suit yourselves," Angel responded darkly, "it's your mistake to make." Then she turned to the others. "Well?"

She was met by three more saddened, angry faces. "I'm disappointed in you, Angel," Nudge told her, shaking her head. She was bowing out on this one.

Gazzy too was unwilling to join her. "I'd always hoped we were wrong about you, that you still loved us," he recalled quietly, unable to look her in the eye, "but I guess I was wrong."

"I do love you, Gazzy." Angel insisted, annoyed with her brother's histrionics.

The Gasman glared at her. "Well you're doing a bad job of showing it."

That left just one more person, who had remained silent this entire time. "Fang?" Angel looked at him, absolutely certain he'd take her side, "You want to find Max as much as I do!"

But Fang only said one thing to Angel, with a cold edge to his voice: "Where is Alexandria?"

Heart sinking like a bucket of lead plummeting through the sky, Angel felt her certainty shatter to a million pieces, replaced by a fog of anger and jealousy. "Fang," she said gently, as if correcting a small child, "Lex isn't a part of this family."

"She's my daughter," Fang stated coolly.

"But _I'm_ the one you and Max raised; _I'm_ the one who's loved you like my own parents!" Angel's voice had grown louder, "You can't let a complete stranger come between us." She looked him gravely in the eyes, begging him to see things her way. "She doesn't belong Fang; she's not one of us."

Fang glared at Angel for a long moment, and then turned away. He stared at the ceiling quietly, prepared to wait in that room for an eternity if he had to.

"Fine," Angel snapped, "I'll look for Max myself." She scowled at them, "And here I thought you actually loved her." Then she spun around and left the room angrily, ordering the closest Collector, "Have them escorted to the holding cells immediately. Keep them there until your superior receives word that the Gallery has been re-secured. The crippled human girl already down there will go to the Citadel when the others are transferred." The Collector nodded, and then went away to carry out his instructions.

_I'll leave at the beginning of next week, once final details are sorted out,_ Angel decided, _I'll travel to the outside and find Max. She doesn't have to know about the Flock, or Ella, or Lex, or anything. I'll tell her they're all dead. Then I'll bring her back here, and keep her safe forever. She knows I love her, she'll understand. She'd never hate me. _But she couldn't quite get the Flock's betrayed expressions out of her head, no matter how many times she tried to block it out by imagining Max smiling at her.

* * *

In the middle of the wilderness, in a thick patch of bushes only a few feet away from the edge of a swift mountain river, there was a still form lying in the thicket. It was Hunt, alive but completely helpless. In too much pain to move, too tired to call for help, and still too far from the river's edge to obtain life-sustaining water, the future was not looking bright. He was bruised and bloody, and the animals could probably smell him for miles around. It was only a matter of time before dehydration or a hungry beast came and finished off what the Collectors had started.

_You're so weak_, a voice in his head mocked him, _you don't even have the strength to stand. You've been left all alone, and there's nobody here to save you. _

But I have to try, Hunt told himself, a flicker of determination in his tired existence. I'm just a human, but I'm a survivor. Drawing all the energy he could from his battered body, Hunt flipped over to his front so he could push up with his hands. He screamed—his skin was embedded with shards of rock, and clotted wounds had been re-opened, bringing fresh pain to each and every cut. He could also feel several sharp sticks jammed into his body at various points, though he didn't dare try to pull them out. If he fainted after removing a stick and the hole started bleeding heavily, he would just be setting himself up for death by blood loss.

Hunt's vision spun as he slowly pulled himself up onto his hands and knees, the after-effects of the tranquilizer still lingering. This would have to do, he decided, unable to right himself any further. Slowly he crawled forward, every movement nearly enough to make him sob in pain. But crying out would only take up more of his energy, not to mention further alert all the hungry animals to his location, so he bit down on his lip and willed himself to move forward silently.

The river was only a few feet away, but when Hunt finally reached the water's edge it felt like he'd crawled a mile. He stuck his head in the water for almost an entire minute, allowing the rush of cold liquid to flow into his mouth and take away some of the burning disorientation he felt. _I'm going to drown again if I don't move soon, _he finally told himself, removing his head from the water at long last. He shuffled far enough from the river that he wouldn't fall in by accident, and then he rolled onto his back and allowed his tears to flow freely.

The water had aided him a little bit, but he needed help. He might be seriously injured or have an infected wound, and he couldn't take care of himself when he had no supplies and his head was buzzing from the tranquilizers. _And no one is coming for you, are they? Everyone else is gone, and they're not coming back. _

_I'm going to die out here,_ Hunt thought, allowing a horrible feeling to well up inside his gut. He was sixteen, and he was going to die alone in the wilderness because all he had the strength to do was lie on his back and stare at the treetops. Even now, his vision was beginning to go dark again, maybe from the drugs or the almost unbearable pain he was in.

No wait, Hunt thought, squinting, it's worse than that. He looked more closely at the darkness, and he realized it wasn't something distorting his vision—it was someone blocking out the sunlight. A shockingly familiar someone; someone he never dreamed he'd see in a thousand years. _Aw, man_. Now he knew _for sure_ that he was dying! That was the only way he could hallucinate badly enough to see the face that was looming over of him.

"You're Maximum Ride," he whispered hoarsely to the apparition.

* * *

Oh boy. *grins*


	34. Rescue Op

Gaaah… you know what's annoying? Ever since I started posting this fic I keep seeing variations of the name 'Alex' everywhere, specifically the feminine forms. Alexandra, Alexandria, Alexa… sometimes even shortened to 'Lex' from time to time! *frustration* I mean, I saw the name Alexandria (or a close variant) used a couple times here and there, I thought, but I thought it was still relatively unused. :/ And I was trying to avoid over-used names. *sigh* Oh well.

…Don't mind me, I'm in a NaNo-induced funk. :/ My writing passion decided to fly South for November, so the going is slow. Still, I'm determined to win NaNoWriMo, even if it kills me! (Though I really hope it won't.)

But now back to the story. :D Ah, if only NaNo was coming as easy as this fanfic did… *wistful*

* * *

**34 – Rescue Op**

It was a couple days before Hunt was in any condition to do anything other than sleep or lie paralyzed by pain, but it became quickly apparent that Max was not a hallucination—he'd just gotten extremely lucky. Max explained that she had come through the Barrier on a breaker only a few hours earlier and had been flying overland, looking for civilization. She stopped by the river to replenish her water supply and spotted Hunt lying on the bank, so she'd dressed his wounds and shared her food supply with him. In return, Hunt was able to tell her all that had happened in the empire during her absence, and about Lex and the others.

"I guess I have my work cut out for me," Max muttered, a resolute glint in her eye.

It was their third day together in the wilderness, and the pain had receded enough that Hunt was able sit up and talk. His shirt had been completely shredded when he tumbled down from the ledge, so Max had given him her extra t-shirt—it was unisex, she insisted, and baggy because she'd stolen all her clothes from a locker in the Itex building she'd escaped from.

"Do you have any idea where they might be, Hunt?" Max asked him.

He shook his head, but he remembered, "I might have heard something, though."

"What was it?"

Hunt closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on what had happened that night. "Right before I fell, one of the Collectors said something like, 'Prepare the prisoners for transport, Empress Angel wants them immediately!'" He hadn't thought much of it before, but now he wondered if it was something significant.

Max rolled her eyes and sighed, "_Empress_ Angel, huh? That sounds about right. Some things never change, I guess."

"I have no idea what they were talking about." Hunt explained and recalled, "The only Angel I know of is the one we met when we arrived in the West, but she was captured."

"Angel can be pretty resourceful," Max explained, her face bearing a knowing expression that was half smile, half grimace. She leaned against the tree she was sitting next to and looked up at the sky, as if she was considering something. Then she asked, "Hunt, if you were trying to find an empress, where would you look?"

"The empirical palace," he replied almost automatically. The home and headquarters of the Supremacy was legendary for its lavish decor and extravagance. It was literally fit for a king—or in this case, an empress.

Max nodded. "Then that's where we'll look for them."

It took a couple days to get there, since Hunt was too heavy for Max to carry by air and he was still really sore, but they hiked back to the outpost of Collectors that guarded the Gallery. Such a stupid idea, Max thought, keeping them so far from the building itself. But in the end it wasn't her concern; not once she and Hunt had hijacked a transporter and were hightailing it back to civilization. It was a long drive, and sometimes they took detours to avoid heavily populated areas, but they finally arrived in Empire City on Sunday morning.

After parking the transporter a safe distance away, Max and Hunt walked down to the palace's gate, trying to blend in with the large crowd of tourists and workers. It was a little hard to keep low-profile, since their clothes didn't fit properly and Hunt still looked like he'd been attacked by a mob of angry cats, but no one was suspicious enough to do anything other than stare at them strangely. It wasn't the ideal scenario, but it would do.

"We need to get in there and start searching," Max muttered to Hunt, eying one of the palace's intricately carved columns with some degree of admiration. "Have any ideas? I left my big book of evil fortresses in my other coat."

Hunt nodded, and pointed out a tour guide leading a small group of tourists through the front doors. "If we move fast we can catch up with them." And that's exactly what they did.

The tour guide led the group through the public rooms of the palace, pointing out various details and facts about each room. Neither Hunt nor Max paid much attention, though; they stayed at the back of the crowd, watching and waiting for a chance to split. Finally they got their chance when the tour group went past a Collector stepping into an unmarked hallway, a key card in his hand. Max gave Hunt a quick nod, and the two of them broke off from the group and followed the Collector.

They tailed him through a maze of shadowy hallways, which were a stark contrast from the palace's grandeur. There were a few steel doors spaced out along the walls, some of them marked with signs, but the entire area felt very abandoned and private. It seemed like the kind of place where you could hide embarrassing secrets from public view.

Eventually the Collector reached his desired door, and Max and Hunt watched from around the corner as he slid the key card through the scanner to unlock it. He threw the door open, stepped inside, and let it fall closed behind him. At least, it _would_ have fallen closed, if Hunt hadn't pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and sent it skidding across the floor. It got caught between the door and the doorway, and the gap prevented the lock from re-engaging. As they got closer to the door, they saw that overtop the doorpost there was a sign was bolted to the wall: PALACE CONTAINMENT FACILITY. Bingo.

"I see my family has taught you well," Max remarked, giving him a quick nod. It was all Hunt could do not to glow with pride at Maximum Ride's approval.

Quietly they pried open the door, revealing a flight of metal stairs. "Keep the flashlight in place so the door doesn't lock again," Max told Hunt, "Just in case." Then she ran down the stairs in a torrent of noisy, clanking footsteps. Hunt winced, but after replacing the flashlight in the doorway he followed after her. The Collector definitely knew they were there now.

About halfway down the stairs Max came to a stop, just as the Collector ran to the bottom of the stairway. "What are you—OOF!" Without hesitation Max jumped from the stairs and tackled him, knocking him to the floor. The poor clone never had a chance. There was a loud thud when the Collector's head hit the concrete, and then he was out like a light. Max got up off of him and smirked, glad to know she still had some fight left in her after all these years.

"Hello to you too," she muttered to the unconscious guard.

_That was amazing, _Hunt thought, grinning has he followed down the stairs after Max. They ran down the long row of jail cells until they came across the one where the Flock and company were being housed: Fang, Iggy, Gazzy, Nudge, Nina, and Addy were all inside. "Max!" The Flock members cried simultaneously. Max smiled and greeted them all through the bars, hugging and grasping hands and talking to them excitedly. Then she reached for Fang, who she pulled towards her through the bars and met with a passionate, awkwardly long kiss. Everyone else stood there uncomfortably, waiting for them to finish.

After a few seconds went by and they _still_ hadn't finished, Iggy got impatient and broke the happy couple up. "As much as we'd love to stand here and wait for you two to re-consummate your relationship through the prison bars," he told them sarcastically, "would you mind saving the big reunion for later and open the cell door already?"

Max broke off her kiss with Fang and shot him a dirty look, even though she knew he couldn't see it. "Fine," she told him, pulling out the key card she'd taken from the guard, "but when we're out of this mess you and me are going to have a chat about your _consummation_ with my sister, who you got pregnant at age what, seventeen?" Iggy blushed a deep shade of red and Nina laughed, and Max let everyone out of the cell and led them upstairs. Even though Addy's wheelchair was a huge eyesore, Gazzy made sure to talk loudly about her "recent surgery" and "being on crutches soon" as he wheeled her through the crowd of curious onlookers. That seemed to satiate the gawkers for a spell.

Finally they were out of the palace's front grounds and on the main street, and they were able to talk more freely with each other.

"Where's Lex?" Max finally asked Fang, worried that her daughter wasn't with the others.

"Angel came down to visit us one last time a couple hours ago," Fang answered, "She said she's leaving by boat today to look for you on the outside. I think she has Lex." He grimaced. "There's a marina behind the palace, so if she's still there we can catch her."

But when they arrived at the marina, Angel was nowhere to be found. "She's already left!" Max exclaimed, feeling distraught enough to punch something. She gritted her teeth and said, "We have to go after her." She looked to the rest of her Flock. "All of us." They all nodded solemnly, and they spread their wings. This was going to be a group confrontation.

"Nina, you and Hunt stay here with Addy," Iggy instructed them. "They can't have gotten too far." Nina nodded, and she and Hunt stood with Addy, watching as the six winged figures flew into the horizon, towards the faint crackling blue in the distance.

* * *

Duh-duh-duuuuuh! *dramatic music keeps playing* It's down to the crunch next chapter! It's the beginning of the end, the start of the big confrontation—a confrontation that not everyone will be returning from. My, my, my, what an event…

Oh, and while I'm thinking of it, check out **AngelwiththeClippedWings**' fics, _My Name is Fang: Welcome to My Hell_ and _Loss, Love, and Life_. *nods* The former is dark and intense, and the latter makes me want to date an Eraser. :D Which is saying something, because, hello, Eraser? Talk about excessive body hair… *cough* But anyways, the stories are awesome. :)


	35. Alexandrian Ray

**35 – You Don't Love Us**

Angel sat on the deck of her new yacht, the _Alexandrian Ray_, resting in a lounge chair and enjoying the unusually sunny day at sea. This is a good omen, she decided, which helped cancel out her displeasure with the name of the boat she had been given by the Supremacy. But what's a name, anyways? Besides, it could always be changed later.

For a brief instant Angel's attention flickered back to the mind of her captain, who was the only crew member she'd brought aboard. As before, his mind was focused completely on sailing. Nothing that would be of any concern to her. _Still, _she told herself, _I should blank out his memory of the Gate once we've crossed through, just to be safe. _She wanted its location to remain top secret, just as she wanted to be the only one who knew the password to unlock it. There was a special computer onboard the _Alexandrian Ray_ which would serve as a 'keypad' to the Gate—when she got within a certain distance of the Barrier, she could type in the password and open a clear passage for herself to the outside world.

There had been much to sort out in the empire before she left. She had, after all, just instigated the largest roundup of CSM operatives that the UNAE had ever seen. She was member of the illustrious Flock, and so of course she had been entrusted with innumerable contact names and locations over the years. And she'd never forgotten a single one. There were too many operatives to process, of course—thirty percent of the empire would certainly not fit into the Citadel—but she had a solution all lined up. She had authorized the populace clearing of several of the Anarchist States (a collection of eastern and northern sectors so far from the West that Collectors had all but abandoned them except for when they collected taxes; they were notorious for their primitive inhabitants and lawless behavior), and had arranged the en masse relocation of the CSM operatives and their families. New towns would be built, and security measures would be put into place to ensure that peace and order was maintained.

On top of that, she'd also arranged for many loyalist families to move in with them, most of them coming from the sectors closest to the West where life was relatively good and families could afford to keep their children in (the heavily propagated) school fulltime. Many of those sectors were overcrowded city spaces, and the idea of moving to the countryside and starting new towns enthralled the people. An abundance of loyalists and Collectors in the newly established towns, combined with strict rationing and mandatory schooling for children ages four to sixteen, would ensure that CSM activity came to a halt and the rebels' children would grow up to be law-abiding, tax-paying citizens.

But enough politics; now was time to explore.

_It will be nice to see the world again,_ Angel thought to herself. She especially wanted to revisit Europe—how much had it changed since she'd last been there? Of course, there was another, less novel order of business that needed to be taken care of in Europe as well: Lex, who was lying on a cot below deck, sedated and oblivious to what was happening. Angel wasn't sure yet what she was going to do with the girl when she actually arrived in Europe; she obviously couldn't just kill her, even if she was a disgusting little weasel.

At the same time, though, she had to ensure that Lex never tried to come back to the UNAE. Maybe if she was maimed in some way—perhaps a paraplegic like that Addy woman, who the Flock had befriended recently. Of course, knowing Lex, she'd probably figure out how to wheel her way back across the ocean. No, she had to think of a better solution than that. Could she block out portions of Lex's memory, perhaps? Make her forget everything that happened? Angel didn't want to bank on that option, though—she'd never put much trust in her memory-erasing abilities, which were mostly limited to tiny lapses that prevented people from remembering seeing or doing something that had happened recently. She didn't think she could just tell someone 'forget your parents are Max and Fang' and it would work.

Messing with Lex's mind might still be a good idea, though. There were certain drugs, Angel knew, which you could administer to a person that would cause them to show signs of mental instability. If Angel gave Lex enough of something to get her checked into a psych ward, and then brainwashed a few nurses into drugging her regularly, it just might work. In fact, she might not even need drugs for more than a few weeks—once doctors saw the wings they'd probably want to incarcerate her anyways. They'd study her like some sub-human species, not raise her in a pretty little house with a perfect family and then let her run across the ocean to intrude on another family that had kicked her out when she was a baby.

_So, _Angel decided, returning to the matter at hand_, drugs and the wings should do it—if they think Lex is crazy, the parents won't have a problem signing her off to the scientists. And then she'll never see the light of day again._

Just then the captain alerted her, "We're approaching the key-in zone."

"Excellent." It was almost time to open the Gate; almost time to open a world of possibilities. _Stay loyal to the Empress and you will reap many rewards, _Angel told the captain mentally. And who knew? Maybe someday she would be empress of the outer world too.

Angel noticed, though, that the captain hadn't yet given any response to her advice. She turned to look up at his post and gasped. He was slumped over at the controls, unconscious.

The ship came to a sudden halt as the anchor was lowered into the water, just as five winged figures filled the sky and blotted out Angel's sunny day. Angel stood up, watching as four of the five landed on the deck in front of her. Gazzy, Nudge, Fang and Iggy all glared at her threateningly with their wings spread, like warrior angels on judgment day.

And then _she_ landed, eyes burning with fire and brimstone. _Max._ After so many years, the Flock was finally back together.

Even though it was obvious the other four were about ready to tear her apart, Angel ran forward and hugged Max, overjoyed to see her. "Max, I've missed you so much!" However, Max stayed stiff, unmoved by Angel's greeting.

"What's wrong?" She asked her, confused by the stern expression on Max's face. She couldn't understand why she was so upset. Wasn't Max happy to see her after all these years?

"Why did you do it, Angel?" Max asked sharply, the slightest tinge of pain in her inflection. "How could you hurt the Flock that way? How could you hurt _me_ that way?"

Angel was taken aback by Max's accusation. "What? But Max, all this—I did it for you, for all of us! I did it to protect us!"

Max scowled at her, seeing right through her justifications. "No you didn't, Angel," she raised her voice slightly, "It's never been about us. It's been about you, and what you wanted."

"Max, I—"

"Isn't that why you're letting my sister rot in the Citadel?"

"Max—"

"Or why you're living like a queen when you could be changing the world?"

"Please—"

"Or why you're trying to take _my daughter _away from me? That's not love, Angel, that's selfishness."

Angel looked at the faces of the rest of the Flock, looking for some trace of compassion or pity. But their expressions were as hard and unsympathetic as Max's. "Please," she whimpered, sinking to her knees, "_I'm _your daughter, Max. I love you."

But Max just shook her head. "I wish I could believe that Angel," she denounced harshly, "but you've turned your back on your entire family. You don't love us; you've forgotten how to. You just want us, like a spoiled brat wants pet birds to keep in a cage."

The rejection was too much—all that Angel had believed, all that she'd wanted and lived for; how could Max tear it apart and burn it to ashes with so few words? It was all so overwhelming. Angel could feel herself crumbling from the inside out. "Please," she choked, tears streaming down her face now, "I can love. I can change! Please, just take me back!"

"I don't know if I believe you, Angel. I can't take you back if I don't believe you." Max turned her eyes away, unable to look any longer at the young woman she'd once treated like a daughter.

This hurt, this complete and total abandonment, cut Angel to the deepest part of her being. What happened to her? What happened to the sweet, thoughtful Angel who cared about others and loved her family? _She developed a lust for power and control._ And now what did she have left? Her family wouldn't take her back until they thought she'd change, and she didn't know how to show them that she could. She didn't even know _how_ to change, after living like this for so long. She was alone in the world, Angel realized. Totally and completely alone.

Eventually Angel stopped crying and she righted herself, daring to look her Flock in the faces again. They were still closed off to her silent plea for compassion. There was only one thing left to do, Angel decided. "I'll change," she told the Flock with every ounce of sincerity and composure left in her body, "I swear, I'll change." And then she ran to the edge of the boat and threw herself over the side, plummeting into the sea below. She didn't resurface.

Immediately the Flock broke ranks and ran after Angel, peering over the edge into the dark waters. She didn't resurface. "Angel!" Max cried, "Where is she?"

"Hiding, probably," Fang remarked, troubled but not overly concerned, "I doubt we'd find her even if we tried."

"But we can't just leave her…"

"Max, she made her choice," Gazzy reminded her firmly, "besides, she has gills. We're not that far from shore—she can swim back easily. Maybe the time alone will do her good."

Max sighed, and finally came away from the ship's edge. "I hope we weren't too hard on her." She frowned despondently. "And I hope she meant what she said, about changing."

"Me too," everyone murmured in agreement. They'd just excommunicated a member of their Flock, and it was weighing heavily on all of them. Only time would tell if Angel could keep her word.

"We'd better find a way to get this boat moving back towards shore, so we can pick up the others," Nudge finally declared, motioning for the others to follow her. "You and Fang should find Lex, Max."

"Oh, Lex!" In the tension of the moment, Max had almost forgotten. "Fang, come with me." While the others focused on figuring out the boat's controls, Max and Fang searched for their shanghaied daughter. Finally they found her in a room below deck, lying on a cot with a breathing masked strapped onto her face. She was being kept on sort of sleeping drug, Max observed, noting the connected air tank. Gingerly she removed the mask, and then she took Lex's hand, squeezing it lovingly. This was her first time seeing her baby girl all grown up; her first time seeing her as Max, anyways, which meant this day was still significant. The tiny baby she'd loved and left all those years ago was now a strong young woman, so much like both of her parents.

Fang knelt down next to Max and waited with her. "She's beautiful," he observed with a smile, "just like you."

"Funny," Max replied, "because I thought she looked a lot like you."

"She looks like both of us."

Max nodded, and then mentioned, "You know, I've been thinking about our last day together, trying to remember what happened." She looked him in the eyes. "You sacrificed yourself so I could get away, didn't you? You held the Collectors back long enough for me to escape."

Fang nodded his head slightly in confirmation. "That was the day I knew for sure you were pregnant."

"You knew?" Max was taken aback. "But how? I never told anyone."

"You ran instead of trying to protect me," Fang explained, "You'd never leave me behind unless you were protecting a life that meant more to you than I did."

Max lowered her head, and said quietly, "I can't say I regret that."

"Good. Neither do I."

A few more minutes passed by in silence, until finally Lex began to stir. Finally she opened her bleary eyes, disoriented and groggy. "Mum? Dad?" She was using her British accent. Focusing her eyes a little bit, Lex looked up at them and smiled. "It's really you." Then she turned to Max and told her, "You came back for me, just like you said in the letter."

"I made a promise, didn't I?" Max whispered, leaning down and kissing her daughter on the forehead, "I love you, Lex."

Fang nodded in agreement, smiling a little bit. "I love you too," he said quietly.

"I love you guys too," Lex replied with a yawn, this time using an American inflection, "I'm so tired..."

"Go back to sleep, sweetie," Max told her, "We'll get you up later, okay?" Lex nodded and then dozed off again.

Max smiled, and she leaned her head against Fang's shoulder. At the same time, Fang put his arm around Max and pulled her close. After so many years of lies and separation, their family was finally together.

* * *

*sniffles* So beautiful. So sad. So happily-ever-after.

…Not that the story's over yet; there's still plenty of problems that need resolving. *chuckles knowingly* Poor Lex still has a few challenges ahead of her yet. 0:)


	36. Prisoner Plans

Okay, I think I missed an update day, which makes me feel super bad because, well, y'know. But to a degree, the circumstances worked against me yesterday. After being kept up late working on NaNoWriMo, I was forced out of bed at nine in the morning and whisked away to a day spent at the bookstore and Walmart. *yawn* I know I should have gotten to bed earlier, but by the time bedtime rolled around I was feeling a little—_ahem_—loopy, so I was not thinking straight (i.e. I was talking word salad and playing air guitar with a shoe horn). In the end, I got to bed at midnight and slept over twelve hours, which helped me restore the little sanity I have left—though my head still feels a little funny. But at least I have enough wits about me to update now!

…I know, right? :P

Mwah-hah-hah, another plan's in the works! }:P Let's see what exactly they come up with…

36 – Prisoner Plans

After I had recovered from my not-so-sister's abduction attempt, I went up on deck and found that our entire group was now onboard—Nudge, Gazzy, Iggy, my parents, Nina, Hunt, and Addy. Apparently they had sailed the boat away from the Barrier, dropped off the captain, and picked up the others at the marina, and then they had retreated to the open waters. It was nice being out at sea, a step back from the danger. It was almost like the _Alexandrian Ray_ had become our own little world for a while, free of Collectors and conspiracies.

Unfortunately, even though _our_ world was free of trouble, we still had to discuss the other world's problems.

"I've been looking through the files and messages on Angel's plug," Nudge told everyone, "and it doesn't look good. She's ratted out almost the entire CSM, and it looks like she's arranged for them all to be relocated to the Anarchist States."

"What about the anarchists?" Iggy asked.

"Processed."

Iggy shook his head and rubbed his temples. "This is not good. Angel knew a lot about the CSM. The only thing we may have going for us are the strongholds up north."

"And even those may not be safe for long," Gazzy brought up the fact, "If they increase the security in the Anarchist States—which they will, if they want to keep that many CSM people at bay—they're going to have a wider-spread surveillance area."

"Which means they'll find Grandma, Vera, and the little kids," Nina stressed.

"This is why I wish Ella was here," Iggy lamented, "she'd know what to do." He sighed. "This situation's so bad, I'm almost tempted to call out the sleepers."

"Sleepers?" Gazzy asked, apparently in the dark just like I was.

"For the last ten years or so we've been discreetly sending operatives—specifically new recruits without track records—out West so that when wartime comes we have trained militants in enemy territory. They've integrated themselves into society and have no active contact with the CSM, and there's no list of names for anyone to betray. They're practically untraceable, and have orders only to reveal themselves when they receive the battle order.

"Our goal was to match the number of Collectors in the West two-to-one, with the idea that if we sealed off the gates we could conquer the West and eventually move outwards. But that's at least fifteen or twenty years off, and if we only targeted the Citadel to retrieve Ella... Well, we'd have to start over from scratch. Covers would be blown, people would get killed." Iggy shook his head, already knowing that what he was suggesting wasn't reasonable. "Just saying it makes it seem like a worse and worse idea."

"There must be some other way in," Max insisted, not willing to concede defeat. "We're functioning on the assumption that the Citadel can't be penetrated without using military force. Well, what if it can be?"

"How?" Iggy asked. "It's an impossible fortress; maybe even more impossible to breach than the palace itself!"

"Well, let's at least stop and think about the resources and abilities we have that could be useful," Max suggested, listing everyone's useful abilities. "You and Gazzy are great with explosives. Nudge is good with computers and can attract metal stuff, and feel for passwords. Fang has a stealth mode. Lex has that new computer-interfacing power. Nina can—"

"Wait a minute!" Hunt exclaimed, an idea crossing his mind, "I just had a thought: What's the easiest way to get into the Citadel? Think simple answers."

"Same way as getting into the West: going in as a prisoner," Iggy replied.

"Exactly! So why find our own way in when they're offering us a way?"

Max's face lit up. "I get what you mean. Why doesn't one of us infiltrate the Citadel as a prisoner?"

"But there's no way you'd be able to carry any equipment with you," Iggy pointed out, "They don't strip search you like they do in processing camps, so they won't find wings, but they still have scanners and metal detectors. And since you're required to change into a skin-tight wetsuit before you're canned, you can't even conceal items in your clothes."

"But that's why we send one of _us_ in," Nina told him, "Since we're already living gadgets. But we need to pick someone who can fake out the technicians so they're not drugged or fried by the 'Works."

"How do they administer sedatives?" Nudge asked.

"Through oxygen masks," Addy replied. "I-I know this stuff from school and from the Gallery—when I was little I wanted to be a technician, you see, because I thought it was interesting. Oh, but that's probably not a good thing. I'm sorry, I didn't realize then. Sorry." She blushed and then continued, "Anyways, you lower the patient into the tank wearing a mask connected to an air supply, and even though they don't need it—you know, because they receive oxygen and stuff from the suspension fluid—they breathe anyways because, of course, most people panic when they don't have air. Once they think you're sedated, the technicians remove the air tube and just leave the mask on so you don't take in fluid by accident. So if you could fake being semi-conscious, and then pull the probes out..." she trailed off. "Oh, oh no, sorry. You can't take the probes out without a special code. They're embedded, so you can't rip them out. They're too strong. Sorry..."

"So it wouldn't matter anyways, since you'd get flooded with the Brainworks before you could do squat." Clearly Iggy was convinced this plan wasn't going to work.

Fang, on the other hand, had other ideas. "Iggy, I think we should give Hunt's idea a chance. This might be our best bet at getting Ella back, and we have to consider every option." Then he asked me, "Lex, your power allows you to interface with the Brainworks, right?" I nodded. "Then since interfacing is what the probes are for, couldn't you just interface back and reverse the flow?"

I considered it briefly. "I suppose I could," I reasoned, "It's just like having a direct connection to the computer instead of having to send the signals myself." I allowed electricity to pass between my hands in a blue flash.

"I don't know," Max worried, switching to the role of protective parent, "It's seems like a pretty big gamble. What if her wings stick out funny from underneath the wetsuit? Or they catch something suspicious on camera and stop her? Or what if technicians administer sedatives in more than one way, just to be sure?"

"Max, I'm worried too," Fang admitted, "but the fact is that the fate of an entire continent may lie on Ella's shoulders. People look up to her; they need her leadership."

Max sighed uncomfortably. "I just wish Lex didn't have to do this..."

"You know," Nina pointed out, "No one's even asked Lex if she's willing to go."

Everyone turned and looked at me, except for Iggy of course. "Well, Lex?" Max asked me, her eyes practically begging me to say no. "It's alright if you don't want to."

I took a deep breath. "I don't want to go," I confessed, but continued, "But think I have to. Ella's too important, and the CSM needs her now more than ever. Besides," I told Max, "I'm my mother's daughter. This kind of stuff runs in the family." A vague smile etched its way across both of our faces, and Max gave a slight nod. Her reluctant blessing.

"So then it's decided," I declared, "I'll be the prisoner."

"Perfect!" Nudge exclaimed, "There's even good enough equipment on the ship that I can forge the paperwork right now!" She began rambling excitedly about all the machines and plugs onboard, obviously enthralled by an opportunity to use some of them.

"Just keep one thing in mind," I told her, "while you're issuing the papers."

"What?"

"Don't send me there for too long," I requested warily, "you know, just in case things don't turn out so great?"

Nudge grinned. "Sure thing, hun. One five-year stay at the Citadel hotel coming up."

I'm really hoping she was joking about that.


	37. Infiltration

**37 - Infiltration**

We didn't waste time in setting our plan into action. The next morning I was loaded into the back of a stolen transporter and chauffeured by no one other than my daddy dearest. Unlike Erik, Fang wouldn't die if a piece of his hair stuck out from under the mask—his coloring and physical features were so similar to the Collectors he almost didn't need one, actually—but I couldn't help but double and triple check his outfit several times over before we left, just in case there was a feather or another giveaway sticking out from somewhere.

We had also taken much more care in making the transporter authentic than Erik had. No two-way communication, no food or supplies stored in the back, and all prisoners (i.e., yours truly) were properly cuffed and shackled and wearing an appropriate uniform, since that's how you'd normally arrive from a processing camp. Nudge had emailed the transfer order to the Citadel this morning, and Fang carried a copy of the papers in the front so that he could show them to the guards at the unloading garage. Once we were inside the garage, it was game on: there'd be no well-wishing glances, no good luck smiles, Fang would just take me there, drop me off, and then drive away.

And then the rest was up to me.

I'd practically spent the entire night before planning my escape. It wasn't a bad plan, I had to admit. Not only could I free Ella (and a select list of other high-ranking CSM agents deemed important enough to rescue) and make it out of the Citadel in one piece, but I had figured out how to get in and out without anyone ever knowing how we did it. Was I scared? Oh yeah. But at least I felt like I had a shot at pulling this thing off.

Even though the drive seemed to take an eternity while I was sitting in the back of the transporter, the ride seemed all too short when we finally came to a halt and someone opened the back hatch._ I am officially in the Citadel._ I struggled to keep calm as the guard beckoned me out and took a firm hold on my arm.

One of the other Collectors was reading through the paperwork Fang had given them. "A two-monther, huh? Let me guess—shoplifter?"

"Uh-huh. Her parents are fed up with her shenanigans," he told him, matching the Collector's gruff tone of voice, "so they pulled a few strings and landed her a couple months in here on lenient load."

"Ungrateful brat," the Collector muttered, handing the papers back to Fang, "I know the type. They own everything in the world, but they steal just for the thrill of it." Fang nodded, and without saying another word he got back into the transporter and drove out the garage door.

And then I was left alone with a group of unsympathetic Collectors who thought I was daddy's spoiled kleptomaniac. "This way," said the guard holding my arm, "you'll be given a number and put in a waiting area. When you hear your number called, answer immediately. Patients who give the nurses a hard time will be assigned to more mentally strenuous data allotments."

_Patients, is that what we're called in here? _Still, I nodded and did my best to play the part of a scared little rich girl. Just as the Collector had said, I was given a number and sent into crowded into a giant hall full of other prisoners—er—patients. The room was big and stuffy, with people squished up together side by side like cattle. Every couple of minutes a nurse's voice would call a string of numbers over the intercom system, and the corresponding patients would shove their way to the front of the hall, where the door was. But for every ten prisoners leaving, it seemed, there was another twenty arriving.

It must have been hours before they called my number, and when they did I didn't waste time getting to the door. The Collectors didn't have to worry about people not answering when called—whoever stayed in that room longer than they had to must be insane. The nurse who had announced the numbers stood at a podium beside the door, and as she read the label tacked onto my uniform she nodded and had the Collectors nearby usher me to the next area, which, of course, was another room full of people.

This one, though, was a lot smaller and had thinner crowd—about two hundred patients as opposed to five hundred. And this time we were moving fairly quickly through line-ups, passing through a series of detectors. I made it through without a hitch (I guess Citadel security staff aren't trained to look for wings with those full body scanners), and as the day progressed I found myself constantly swapped from waiting room to waiting room.

After the scanning, though, I was put through a series of tests and given several injections. It was demeaning, the way the nurses tried to be cordial but obviously viewed you as less than human. They were preparing you, like an animal is prepared for butchering. _"This will help your body adapt to the suspension liquid,"_ or, _"Here honey, this will pass any solids out of your system before they tank you,"_ or, _"Let me cut your hair, it will make things easier for the technicians."_ All the kind bedside manner was just a ruse, a way of dressing you up for the nightmare.

I finally got my chance to act when they sent me into a small cubicle to shower and change into a wetsuit. I was alone for the first time in a good ten hours. There was some sort of electrical communications cable running along the top of the cubicle roof, I noticed, so I pointed my finger at the cable's plastic covering and melted through it with a beam of energy. I was a little worried about using electricity in here, since my feet were touching a wet floor, but all that was irrelevant once I made contact with the Citadel's system.

Carefully I riffed through the torrent of security measures and video feeds, until finally I found what I wanted: the security video archive. Carefully I selected an archived feed recorded a week ago and fed it to the security system, making it believe that the old recording was the live footage it received from the cameras. The guards watching in the security room might notice the difference, but I doubted it—with so many people passing through the camera's eyes hour after hour, who would take notice of a flickering screen and a couple of misplaced faces? Once that was taken care of, I disengaged and took my shower, acting as if nothing unusual had happened. I was now invisible to the cameras.

I felt half-amphibian when I emerged from cubicle: my skin was damp, my wetsuit clingy, and my annoyingly short hair was sticking to my face like a bunch of soggy threads—it was over a foot shorter than I normally wore it. At least they'd left me with a couple inches instead of giving me a buzz cut or something, I told myself. Still, it was going to be a frizzy mess when it had a chance to dry.

After that I was taken to the final waiting room, which was the smallest and nicest of all the rooms by far—perhaps they had opted for several of smaller rooms as opposed to one big one, to make the patients feel more comfortable. And I had to admit, the sterile metal chairs with tweed cushions, combined with the pale yellow walls, provided a much more relaxing atmosphere than the rest of the Citadel had to offer. It was almost homey, like the waiting room in my dad's medical clinic in England. Almost.

The wait was relatively short, so when I was finally called I felt like I'd barely had a chance to get my thoughts together. _What did I need to do next?_ I asked myself. I remembered that now my main goal was to get sealed into a tank and transferred to the storage area without being sedated. Woo-hoo.

I was escorted by a nurse to a team of technicians, who explained the process to me, gave me my breathing mask, and helped me into the tank. It was hard, willing myself not to inhale—not only was I completely submerged in liquid, which made me feel like I was going to drown, but I had a mask feeding me cool, clean oxygen. But I knew I had to resist the temptation; one whiff of that stuff and all my plans would be down the drain faster than a bucket of dishwater. So I held my breath, forcing my chest to move in and out shallowly so the technicians would think I was taking the sedative in. Eventually, though, not breathing actually became fairly comfortable. After a couple minutes of fake breathing I allowed my body to relax and my fake breathing to stop, and I felt the technician reach down and remove the oxygen tube. Next they attached the probes, which stung a little, but I was able to grit my teeth and bear it long enough for them to seal me in and send me off.

Once I was out of sight on the conveyor belt, I breathed a sigh of relief, watching the bubbles escape through the mask's one-way seal. I didn't inhale, just in case there were still traces of the sedative in the mask, but by then I didn't really need to. Even though the natural instinct was to breathe, my body was receiving so much oxygen from the green liquid that, other than a stuffy feeling in my chest, I felt nothing. It was easy to forget about inhaling and exhaling in an environment like this.

But enough about my adventures in alternative respiration; at that point I was being hoisted into place at a connection point in the Citadel, like one more canister on a shelf of canned goods. My vision was blurred a little by the fluid, but I could see that I was surrounded by numerous tanks, all of them cylindrical like mine and containing an unconscious person. It was a chilling sight. I didn't spend too much time thinking about it, though—I had to focus! Any time now my tank would establish connection to the Brainworks, and if I let the information stream catch me off-guard I could be in huge trouble—

And just as I was thinking that, the data flow caught me off guard and swept me off my proverbial feet.


	38. Angel Power

C'mon Lex, you can do this! Don't let your brain get fried! :O

* * *

**38 – Angel Power**

Instantaneously my brain was overflowed and reeling, the deluge of information threatening to push me out of my own mind. _You have to hold on! _I reminded myself, trying to find more words to motivate myself with. But I couldn't find them—my own knowledge and memories were slowly leaking out of my head. This was a battle of brainpower, and I was losing out fast.

_Keep focused, _I told myself, _you need to remember who you are. _It was scary, but it was true—I was slowly forgetting myself. So focusing whatever energy I had left, I forced myself to mentally recite everything before I lost my details completely: _My… my name is Alexandria Ride Hardly. I am… sixteen years old. My parents are Emma and James Hardly… and Maximum Ride… and Fang. I have wings. I can speak so many languages I've lost count… and I can imitate any accent I hear. I can generate electricity… and interface with computers. I speak with both American and British accents… but I can't tell which one is my real one. I'm an icy blaze. _Just reciting those simple facts and reminders in my head, forcing myself to be aware, kept me holding on to my last shred of self.

It was measured and difficult at first, but my methods did seem to be working. Slowly and surely I was pushing back, not allowing the network to dictate my thoughts. And, as I kept pushing, I began to extend my mind to more complicated concepts, like facts and memories I had drawn from recent events: _Ella Martinez and Iggy/James Griffiths are my aunt and uncle, and they have five children together—Nina, Maria, Wells, Blaze, and Jason. Hunt is Mr. Serious and is also a member of the Griffiths family. Addy is Hunt's sister, and her full name is Adelaide Axlely. Hunt's full name is Fitzhunter Axely, and I learned that the same day he asked me out... _

I was finally able to bring myself to a place where I could think clearly without the Brainworks pressing in on my mind, and I skimmed through the data being sent through me. Gross, fashion magazines and gaming websites. I quickly tuned that out and began searching the network, poking and prodding my way around the Citadel's mainframe. Man, it felt good to be the one in charge again.

Finally I came to what I was looking for: staff schedules, schematics, and tank fail-safes. I was relieved to discover that by now all the medical staff had already gone home for the day, leaving only the night watch Collectors to stand guard. On top of that, it seemed Collectors had specially designed brains that could send and receive transmissions directly from the Brainworks, which allowed me to keep tabs on them as they performed their rounds. I 'uploaded' their locations and routes into my mind, which allowed me to almost sense them even when I wasn't connected to the system. I also downloaded several of the building's schematics into my memory, just in case I needed them later.

And as for the fail-safes I had accessed... those came in handy right about now.

No sooner than I'd tampered with my tank's security codes did the emergency open function kick in, detaching the probes from my head and spilling me onto the concrete platform. I put my hands forward to break my fall, and when I hit the floor I rolled to the side. I pulled my mask off and groaned softly—that had not been fun.

But now was not the time for self-pity; I had about thirty seconds before the next Collector came my way, and already I could hear his footsteps echoing from a lower section of the platform. I glanced anxiously at my opened pod and the puddle of green stuff on the floor. There was no hiding this from the guard.

So I did the next best thing: I got out of sight, and I did it fast. Wedging myself between two tanks that sat across from my own, I held my breath watched silently as the Collector approached the empty tank. He stared at it curiously, as if he didn't understand what it meant. And maybe he didn't; he probably thought the Citadel was infallible like everyone else. However, I wasn't about to give him a chance to realize the truth for himself. Before he could contact backup I stretched out my hand and zapped him hard, rendering him unconscious.

I jumped out of my hiding place and moved towards the unconscious Collector, standing over him as he lay motionless in the puddle of suspension fluid. Right then he was about as aware of his surroundings as the interfacing prisoners in the tanks were.

_As aware as the interfacers… _Suddenly I was struck by a curious Brainworks functioned using human neural signals, right? And since I could control the Brainworks, I wondered... I looked down at my hands, willing a gentle flow of energy to pass between them, like a thread of lightning. Then I lowered my hands, positioning them on either side of the Collector's head so that his temples sat right between them. I allowed the electricity to flow from my fingers to his head, forming a connection. Almost immediately I was drawn into his mind as if I'd been drawn into a tiny version of the Brainworks, instantly able to access all of his information and memories. It felt so strange and foreign looking through his brain's contents: flickers of him crashing a transporter during academy training, the anticipation of his first day at the Citadel, and his curiosity at stumbling upon my empty tank.

And I knew it was wrong—it definitely felt wrong—but I tampered with his mind. More specifically, I tampered his recollection of the last few hours. The only way I can describe it as is that I somehow 'deleted' the memories, so that one moment he would remember lying down in his barrack and the next he'd wake up sprawled on the floor. When I did it, I thought it would help because it might slow him down if he woke up too soon. That, and I was extremely curious. But now... I felt dirty, invading someone's mind like that. I felt insanely powerful. I'm scared I felt a little bit of what Angel felt all the time.

_Never again, _I decided, backing away from the Collector and running in the other direction. There was no time to stop and ponder my latest mistake; I had people to rescue.

There aren't words to describe how vast and impressive the Citadel's central core was. Looking out between the tanks into the empty expanse in the middle of the chamber, the core seemed endless, descending deep below the surface—at least four fifths of the full complex must have been housed underground, I estimated later—and at the same time stretching so far up that you couldn't see the roof. Both sides of the spiraling corkscrew platform, which stretched from the top of the citadel to the bottom, were lined with steel frames full of connected tanks, and as I walked alongside these frames I didn't find a single empty spot. Each person, each brain contributing its power and processing potential to a central hub of humanity—this was manpower at its most extreme and literal form, I decided.

There must have been thousands upon thousands of people stored in the Citadel, and I wished that I could set them all free from their collective punishment—or at least set all the CSM people free, if that's all I could manage. But I knew that a mass jailbreak wasn't an option; it would be impossible to spontaneously release this many people without anyone noticing. Most of them would just wind up recaptured. So, for tonight at least, I had to stay focused on my objective.

Methodically I made my way through the escalating levels of the Citadel, zapping any pesky Collectors I encountered and interfacing with the Citadel's network as necessary. Person by person I located my targets, toying with their fail-safes and catching them when their tank popped open and they toppled out, instantly bewildered and frightened. Fortunately, the masks they wore kept them from screaming. None of them were seriously mentally disturbed, so after jolting them a little to remedy them of their mild state of shock it wasn't hard to get them onboard with my plan. In total I freed eight CSM people, not counting Ella, who we located last.

As I had done with the other tanks, I shot my beams directly at the electric outlet that connected the tank to the Brainworks. After a few seconds of poking around and flipping virtual switches, I returned to the real world just in time to catch Ella as she flailed through the air in a splash of green liquid. Once she was safely on the ground, I removed the white mask from her face so she could breathe.

Immediately some of the other CSM agents—specifically the three female ones—stepped forward in an attempt to calm her down and console her. But quickly it became abundantly clear Ella wasn't calming down any time soon; her eyes were bugged out and glazed over, and her lips moved nonstop to form nearly inaudible strings of numbers under her breath. Something was wrong.

"Give her some space," I told the others, taking Ella by the shoulders and looking her over closely.

"Eight-oh-two-four-nine-six-eight-four-three-oh-five-nine-two-four..." Ella continued to utter numbers incessantly, and she was shuddering violently. None of the others had experienced shock this severely. I tried zapping her a couple times to bring her back to earth, but it didn't work.

"Her mind is completely overloaded," one of the escapees observed with concern, "It must be PBRS."

"PBRS?" I worried, looking at Ella again, "Even though she's only been in here a few days?" When being briefed on possible issues I might encounter on my infiltration mission, I'd learned that PBRS, or Post-Brainworks Retention Syndrome, was a mental disorder that was common in long-term Citadel prisoners, specifically ones who took on heavy processing loads. But Ella had been in here what, a week or two? If she already had the condition, they must have jammed her with some serious data during her short stay here.

But PBRS or not, I had to do something to try and bring her back. Ella was useless if she didn't have enough wits about her to even walk or to think straight, let alone champion a rebellion. Not to mention her family would be devastated.

Then I thought to myself: _Maybe I have to straighten out Ella's thoughts for her._ There was a possible solution welling up inside my head, but I was hesitant to use it. After all, hadn't I just sworn never to tamper with someone's mind again? I don't think Ella would appreciate it if she found out I had been poking around inside her brain and re-arranging thought patterns. But on the other hand, she might not appreciate me _not_ re-arranging them either, if I was the only one who could help her. I wasn't happy about it, but under the circumstances I didn't see any other option.

"Sorry Ella," I murmured, charging my hands and bringing them up to her temples. Instantly I was tapped into her jittered stream of conscious, which was overflowing with mind-bending codes and endless trails of numbers. The data presence was overwhelming, pushing and blocking everything else out of Ella's head.

_All this info has to go._ Carefully and systematically I sorted through her mind's contents, removing stray digits and lines of code, almost as if I was pulling papers out of a filing cabinet and shredding them. I was thinning the flood of information, forcing it to drain away, until eventually numbers and orders were replaced with a jumbled stream of thoughts and emotions. Finally I disconnected, and was relieved to see a confused but self-aware Ella standing in front of me.

"Lex?" Ella asked, looking stunned, "How did you...?" but then she just shook her head, not sure what else to say. Which was good, because if she had asked a question I wouldn't be sure how to answer.

"How long has it been?" she finally asked, "Since I was sent here?"

"A few days," I told her, "but we can't talk now; we need to get going. According to the security schedule, it won't be long before a change in guard comes along and discovered that I've debilitated their entire core night shift." Using the schematics embedded in my brain, I guided Ella and the others out of the core and through the rest of the building, unlocking doors and slipping through hallways unnoticed. All went well, and we made it to the Citadel's outside grounds without a hitch.

Now we just had the perplexed exterior guards to deal with.

"Hey!" a grumpy Collector yowled when he spotted us, "How did you—" before he could react a loud klaxon sounded, and I took advantage of his distraction to give him a good zap between the eyes. _That_ was going to leave a burn mark, I thought with a smirk. Then I turned my attention to the sounding alarms; obviously they'd discovered the unconscious guards, and now they wanted the entire world to hear the alert.

"Run!" I shouted to my fellow escapees, making a break for the front gate. As we approached I stretched my hand out towards the control booth, juicing it with as much power as I could muster. My electricity was greatly absorbed by the booth's metal walls, but some of my reach seeped into the control panel and allowed me just enough leeway to open the gate.

Already a large accumulation of Collectors was trailing close behind us, but we had the clear lead. Still, when I saw our getaway transporter sitting at the end of the block, I wondered if even I, let alone the slower-paced humans, would make it to safety in time. But we gave it our best shot, running as fast as our legs would carry us. When we reached the transporter and climbed into the back, there was maybe ten meters between us and our assailants.

"Drive!" I screamed through the divider, banging it madly. Our driver caught on and put the pedal to the metal, just as a Collector got his hand on the back hatch and twisted the handle. He was left shouting irately in the dust, the open hatch flopping back and forth as we jerked away from the curb and onto the open road. I went to the back of the transporter and shut it, breathing a sigh of relief. That had been close.

I'd actually been expecting a much bigger confrontation with the Collectors than we'd gotten—perhaps another near-death encounter involving firearms and high-speed chases?—but apparently even the high-and-mighty Supremacy had failed to plan for a situation such as this one; the Citadel was supposed to be invincible, after all, and the idea of a car chase taking place never would have occurred to them. So after a few minutes of harried speeding and excessive swerving we were seemingly in the clear, because the driver brought the transporter down to a calmer speed. A few more minutes after that, we came to a complete stop and someone opened the hatch for us.

"Everyone alright?" Fang asked, peering inside.

"Fang!" Ella exclaimed joyfully, "You're alive!"

"Yeah, I guess I am," he replied with a straight face. "Good thing too, or Iggy would have tried driving the truck. That would have ended very badly."

"I heard that!" Iggy called.

As we all unloaded from the back of the transporter, I saw that we had stopped on a road next to an empty stretch of beach. A little ways out from the shore, I could see the _Alexandrian Ray_ floating calmly in the water. _Boat sweet boat,_ I thought to myself.

Just then Iggy walked to the back of the transporter, searching for Ella. "Ella, you here?" he asked.

"You bet I am," Ella replied with a coy smile. She took a step in his direction. "Come here, handsome." Iggy grinned, and then with a flourish he swept his sticky, dusty, wetsuit-clad woman up into a dramatic, passionate kiss. Some of the CSM people awwwed/ewwwed/made suggestive whistling noises. Fang stood to the side and waited quietly for them to finish.

Then Gazzy, who had been sitting in the cab up to that point, walked up to them and groaned, "Iggy, that's even worse that Max and Fang's hello smooch!"

"Shut up," Iggy replied when he broke off the kiss. "You're jealous because you don't have a hot wife like mine." Ella giggled like a giddy schoolgirl, and Gazzy made a grossed-out face. Can't say I blamed him.

"Whatever," he told them, "Can we please just get back on the boat and set sail before someone sees us here? We didn't just pull off the biggest escape in CSM history so you and Ella could get caught in the middle of a make-out session."

* * *

XD Oh, Gazzy.

Well, this story's almost done, so I'll be posting the last two chapters either tomorrow or on Thursday. *sob* Man, I can't believe it's almost over already! :'( Especially since I promised myself I'd get offline for the rest of the month to focus on NaNo once this story was up completely...

I just want to take this time to thank my readers and reviewers. *hugs and cookies* I'm thrilled at how many of you took the time to comment on my story—this fic has the most reviews I've ever gotten! Of course, I'd always love to hear from you quiet ones in the back. ;) This story has 235 reviews as of this post; let's see how close to three hundred we can get. :D


	39. Aboard the Alexandrian Ray

**39 – Aboard the Alexandrian Ray**

The _Alexandrian Ray _was beginning to get a little cramped, now that there were eighteen people on board. At least, I think that's how many there were—it was getting hard to count them all. Fortunately, there was an abundance of supplies onboard, so it wasn't a problem keeping that many people fed, clothed, and showered, if only for a few days. And after a jubilant reunion with her family, accompanied by a good night's sleep, Ella was back to normal and ready to resume her leadership duties. The following afternoon she called the Flock, as well as her CSM associates, together below deck to begin planning a course of action. Me, Hunt, and Nina were allowed to sit in on the session.

"Now, having a large portion of our manpower relocated to the Anarchist States is going to be a huge setback," Ella announced, jotting down notes as she spoke, "but Angel kept detailed lists of every operative she turned in. By my estimation, she's reported about sixty-five percent of our network, and consequent investigations are sure to bring down our number even more. If I had to take a guess, I'd say our number of stable, crucial outposts is down to about twenty."

"And there used to be over two hundred," Iggy expressed with concern.

"But," Ella continued, "Those twenty outposts include almost all of our most important storage locations. And, even though they're bound to be discovered eventually, with the time and effort it will take the Supremacy to move thirty percent of the population into the Anarchist States, on top of additional populace, I think we have anywhere from three to six months before they find our strongholds in Winterburn, Heartland, and Quebeck, as well as all the smaller units we have stationed. That's plenty of time to relocate."

"There will be large portions of data we won't need to transfer," Nudge pointed out, "Since most of the names and addresses are useless now anyways. You could disk what you need and send it to..." she paused. "Um, where exactly are we relocating to?"

"That's where my next idea comes in," Ella stated. She had an excited glint in her eye. "We're going to move CSM headquarters to the Rockies."

"As in, the mountains?" Gazzy asked.

Ella nodded. "It'll be perfect!" she explained, "The mountains are so expansive and sparsely populated that even the Collectors and their choppers will be at a loss to find us. If we pick the right location, maybe where there's already a natural structure of caves that we can use for shelter, we can make it virtually impossible for them to approach by land. And, as long as we're careful about disposing of patrol helicopters, we'll remain completely hidden."

"Using nature's barriers," Fang commented, nodding in approval, "I like it."

"And we have enough explosives stored at the strongholds that construction won't be a problem," Iggy calculated, "give us a few months, and you'll have a fortress ten times better than the bunker full of farmhands that we used to call HQ." He and Gazzy smiled in anticipation, excited by the thought of blowing tunnels into a mountain.

"And that's just the beginning." Ella laid out an extensive plan involving digging new transport tunnels, expanding CSM recruitment programs to boost their numbers, and possibly even the assembly of a wireless transmitter/receiver to tap into the Brainworks from outside of the West. In one morning Ella had taken the biggest devastation the CSM had ever faced and turned it into breaking ground for a bigger, stronger resistance network. Everyone was impressed by her quick thinking.

When the meeting was dismissed and everyone went their separate ways on the boat, Hunt and I found ourselves alone at the back of the deck. "Ella sure is amazing," I told him, "you're lucky to have her for a mum."

Hunt beamed a little bit. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"I've never been to the mountains," I mentioned, referencing Ella's plans for a new headquarters.

"Me neither. I've seen pictures though."

We were both quiet for a little while. Then I finally said, "I guess this means we made it through this whole adventure alive, huh?" Hunt looked at me curiously. I explained, "You said that if we got through this thing alive, you'd like to get to know me better."

"Yeah," Hunt confirmed with a slight smile, "I guess I did."

"So, what do CSM people do for fun around here?" I asked, "I mean, obviously there's no cinemas or fish and chips around here, so dinner and a movie isn't going to work." There was an intrigued grin on my face. "Any suggestions?"

Hunt paused to think for a moment, and then said, "I know how to cook."

I raised my brow at him. "Really?" I never took Hunt to be the domestic type.

He shrugged. "Iggy's shown me a thing or two, and I've helped make dinner before. If you want to, we could wait until everyone's asleep and then sneak down to the galley for a late night meal."

A midnight rendezvous with a cute boy that involved eating? I enjoyed this prospect. "I think I'd like that," I decided with a firm nod. "Though be warned: I eat a lot."

"I've helped cook for a household of nine before," Hunt informed me with a self-assured smile, "I think I can manage dinner for two."

* * *

In another part of the _Alexandrian Ray_, Max and Ella were also having a heart-to-heart chat.

"That was really incredible, Ella," Max told her sister. They were standing together at the front of the boat, looking out at the endless ocean.

Ella lowered her head meekly. "It wasn't, really."

But Max insisted, "Yes, it was. Don't underestimate what you've done here. Your leadership skills are amazing."

"No more amazing than saving the world."

"Ella, the empire _is_ your world."

Max looked out at the ocean thoughtfully, memories lingering behind her eyes. "I remember when we were kids, and I felt like I needed to protect you. I thought that you were another defenseless human who needed saving. I forgot," she turned and looked at her sister, "that humans have been the ones changing history since the beginning. Look at you! While I've been holed up overseas for a good sixteen years, you've been leading the CSM and planning a revolutionary war! You're a hero like George Washington, or Joan of Arc, or any great patriot from history."

"I still think you'd be better at this than me," Ella insisted, shaking her head, "you have so many more strengths."

"Trust me," Max snorted, "I don't. Besides, I think it was your apparent _lack_ of strengths is what made so you strong: being an ordinary human helped keep you from getting power hungry. It made you more compassionate for others. It helped you rally support and stopped people from making unfair assumptions about you. And when you and Iggy got together, even that made a huge statement. It showed people that it wasn't about humans versus mutants; it was about teamwork. Genetic engineering or not, we're all still people, Ella, and you realized that."

"I don't feel like I was all that," Ella murmured. For a flicker of an instant she felt like the frightened twelve-year-old that Max rescued all those years ago.

"But you _are_ all that, Ella," Max took her sister by the shoulders and looked her in the eye, "you're every bit the hero I was, and maybe more."

"You really think I'm a hero?" Ella almost felt like she was dreaming.

Max nodded. "Yeah, I do."

Before she could stop herself Ella felt tears well up in her eyes, and she reached forward and pulled Max into a hug. "You don't know how glad I am to see you again," she whispered.

"Me too, Ella," Max replied, holding her younger sister close, "I've missed you too."

Ella and Max stayed at the front of the ship for a long time, watching the watery blue landscape wave and churn beneath the overcast clouds. Two sisters, both of them completely different in so many ways, but both of them heroes in their own right. This is how things are supposed to be, Ella decided. Life had temporarily pulled them apart for a time, but now their family had come back together, ready and able to take on the world one day at a time. Everyone had their strengths to offer the cause, whether you were a mother of five or you could shoot lasers out of your fingertips.

_Shoot lasers. _Just then Ella remembered something. "Max, there's something I need to tell you. It's about Lex's interfacing power… I think she can control minds."

* * *

Hmmm, I wonder what Max's reaction to _that_ was? ;)

Gah, only one chapter left! :( No, it can't be over already! *sob*


	40. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

It's been six months since that day on the _Alexandrian Ray_; six months of hard work, dangerous escapades, and new experiences. I think it was the best six months of my life.

We sailed the _Alexandrian Ray _as far north as we could before leaving it in the care of a handful of our CSM escapees, abandoning it for the mountains. Even though Angel had taken the Gate's password down with her when she dove into the ocean that day—and nobody has seen her at all since then—Ella hasn't given up hope that we might find a way to get through the Barrier. So the _Alexandrian Ray _will stay at sea permanently with a small crew, being used like a small research center. I hope they discover something—it would be great to visit my other parents one day.

Speaking of parents, I've started calling Max and Fang 'Mum' and 'Dad'. I know the Hardlys will always be the people who raised me, but I have two sets of parents now. It's not a betrayal; it's just my life. I still miss them all the time, though, and I hope that I'll see them again somehow.

"Do you have a pocketknife on you?" Hunt asked, interrupting my train of thought. "I can't find mine, and I need something to un-jam the knob on my binoculars with."

"Here," I said, offering him my knife.

Ah, now you're probably wondering about me and Hunt. Well, right now specifically, we're sitting together on a rocky mountain ledge because it's our turn on lookout duty. Impervia, the CSM's small but impressive mountain fortress, is getting bigger and fuller every day, and we all have fixed shifts to keep things running smoothly. Though sometimes me, Nina, and the other human-avians get assigned to special tasks—delivering messages between outposts, flying people into the mountains—which provides a pleasant break in routine.

But as for what's going on with me and Hunt in general, though... it's been amazing. Seriously, I couldn't ask for a better boyfriend—except, of course, when he refuses to kiss me while we're on duty because it distracts us from our jobs. Same old Mr. Serious. But overall, our relationship is going great. Of course, my dad watches him like a hawk, and I'm pretty sure Mum makes death threats against him when I'm not around, but I think deep down my parents like Hunt. I mean, they haven't pushed him off the side of the mountain yet.

And we're not the only romance blooming up here in the Rockies; Gazzy and Addy have been going out for a few months as well. At first the Gasman was just designated to help Addy around the wheelchair-unfriendly insides of the fortress, but, well, let's just say poor, relationship-deprived Gazzy finally got his first kiss. Nina says she foresees wedding bells in the near future.

In other conjugal news, I got a huge surprise a few days ago when my parents told me that my mum is pregnant again—five months along, no less! I mean, I guess it wasn't completely unfathomable, considering that my parents had been running around together like a couple of kids since they got here (can you say awkward?), but I was still caught completely off-guard when they sprung the news on me.

"We're not _that _old, Lex," Mum laughed when she saw the stunned expression on my face. Looking closely I could see the curve of her belly as she put her hand over it, but she'd been wearing such heavy sweaters lately I hadn't noticed before.

"But aren't you a little, you know, _worried_," I asked them honestly, "about bringing another baby into a place like this?"

"Someone has to parent the next generation of CSM agents," she pointed out, "Besides, you turned out alright."

"Also," Dad reminded me with a half-smile, "this baby will have an amazing big sister to look out for them."

So now Ella has to add a midwife to the list of staff members that have to be smuggled up here—_and_ she's jacked up the restrictions on guy-gal intimacy around the fortress so that there isn't a swarm of children running wild everywhere (she's one to talk, being the mother of five kids). Still, everyone's excited that there's a new baby on the way.

"Lex," Hunt notified me, his eyes fixated on something through his binoculars, "straight ahead of us. Do you see something?"

I looked into the distance and squinted, not bothering with my binoculars. "It's a helicopter," I announced with concern, now able to pick up the faint rotoring of chopper blades as they echoed across the mountain range. I looked over to Hunt, and I saw that he had already pressed the hidden alarm button, which was nestled behind a rock. That was my cue to get going.

"I'll tell you how it turns out," I told him, leaning over and kissing him goodbye—mostly just to annoy him. "See you later!" I called, slipping between the rocks, through the hidden door and into the fortress.

Even as I ran through Impervia's deep, dimly-lit passageways, I had to marvel at the fortress' structure. With the help of the input of several CSM-supporting engineers (and a whole lot of explosives) we had literally gutted out a mountaintop and turned it into the biggest threat the Supremacy's reign has ever known. Right now, though, the normally silent, echoic passageway was filled with flashing red lights and buzzer noises. I caught sight of Nina, who had entered the same passageway only a few meters—or, sorry, _yards_, since she thinks I sound funny when I talk metric—ahead of me, also running to reach our meeting point.

There was just enough space for two people to run side-by-side through the passage, so I caught up to her and called over the alarms, "Got out of lookout duty. You?"

"Kitchen duty," Nina replied, "thank goodness." These days Nina and I were pretty much best friends—Mum had explained the whole 'Becca was a repressed version of my consciousness transmitted into a surrogate body due to the twisted schemes of my conniving biological father' thing to me, and we're still close, but we both knew I needed someone my own age to talk to.

We picked up the pace and made it outside to our meeting point: a wide, flat out-jut of rock that was on the east side of the mountains. Perfect for taking off. Already most of the other human-avians had filed outside—there was about twenty of us staying at Impervia, including the Flock members and Ella's friend Vera—and were reviewing maneuvers while they waited for Iggy and Vera to dish out orders. Nina and I were the youngest fliers out there, with everyone else at least (physically) in their twenties.

"Where's Mum?" I asked my dad, surprised she wasn't here. Ever since she'd found out about the _alternative_ use of my interfacing power, Mum's barely kept me out of her sight, as if she's worried I'll turn into another Angel when she isn't watching. Not to mention she loves kicking bad-guy butt.

I soon got my answer why, though. "Ella has her on desk duty until the baby arrives," Dad replied with a smirk. "She's not happy, but she'll live."

"Alright, cupcakes!" Vera barked once everyone was present, "here's the plan!" Vera was one of the top dogs at Impervia. She had what you could call a _strong_ personality, and wasn't afraid to punch someone in the nose if they got out of line. Most people were a little scared of her. Personally, I thought she was neat; she was almost like a second aunt, in a way. She is also an amazing storyteller—after hearing her rendition of the Savahara incident, I don't think I'll ever look at Ella, Iggy, or butter knives the same way again.

Once Vera had dished out the orders, Iggy began designating target points. I lucked out this time—we were staging a full-out hostile takeover, and I got break-in duty. That meant it was my job to help bust open the helicopter door and subdue the Collectors inside. I was given an aluminum baseball bat to assist with the task. "Let's move out, people!" Iggy ordered once the jobs were clear, and together we all jumped off the ledge and took off in a well-rehearsed and organized formation. Totally and completely awesome.

_As I soar through the air, I feel more alive than I've ever been._

We are now coasting at ambush altitude, too far up for the enemy to see us approaching.

_Yeah, life is more difficult than before, but who says an easy life is a better life? _

We are now dive-bombing towards the chopper, armed with clubs, bats, and our superpowers.

_I'm alright with the danger now, alright with the pain. I've finally started to fill the hole in my heart. To find my purpose in life._

If we were trying to crash the chopper, we'd have jammed the propellers, but this time we want to reroute the chopper and crash it somewhere else.

_I mean, if you're where you're supposed to be, doing what you need to do, it's hard to feel bad forever._

Like a cloudy plague, the chopper finds itself surrounded by a wave of bird people, some in full-out assault mode and others standing by as backup.

_I have the burning passion of a fire inside, combined with the cold awareness of ice._

My bat finds its target and bashes against the helicopter's side door with a fury, and at the same time my electrical waves find their way into the chopper's communications system, severing the link.

_I am Lex Hardly, an icy blaze, and today I am burning colder than ever._

The door finally gives way, and instantly we flood into the chopper. Those poor Collectors never stood a chance.

* * *

"New Life" by Addy X

_So this is where life starts for me_

_In the mountains away from what I thought was life_

_But it wasn't life, not really_

_Because life is when you love people_

_And people love you_

_And you're doing what's right_

_Anyone can live_

_Anyone can reach out_

_The old life is a sham_

_And this new life is where we all belong_

* * *

The end! *gasp* I can't believe that's it! :0 It seemed to go by so quickly… quickly for 80,000+ words, anyways. :P Yes, that's the approximate length of this fic, which makes it the longest story I've ever written—and it took me less than five weeks! It was like a self-motivated NaNoWriMo, I guess. :-k Now if only I could get my REAL NaNo story going this well… [/offtopic]

Once again, thank you to everyone who took the time to read and review my fanfic—as of this posting, this story has gained over two and a half times the reviews I've ever gotten for a fic! (Though I'm always open to more. ;) I still wanna see this story hit 300 comments.) :D It means so much when someone takes the time to reward you (in a small way) for all your hard work, whether the comment is encouraging or critical.

I hope you all enjoyed this story, and keep your eyes open for more Cutoff Chronicles stories in the months to come! (I'll be offline the rest of the month with NaNoWriMo, but I'll _try_ to get something up for late winter/early spring.)

Adios, mi amigos! :D

The end! *gasp* I can't believe that's it! :0 It seemed to go by so quickly… quickly for 80,000+ words, anyways. :P Yes, that's the approximate length of this fic, which makes it the longest story I've ever written—and it took me less than five weeks! It was like a self-motivated NaNoWriMo, I guess. :-k Now if only I could get my REAL NaNo story going this well… [/offtopic]

Once again, thank you to everyone who took the time to read and review my fanfic—as of this posting, this story has gained over two and a half times the reviews I've ever gotten for a fic! (Though I'm always open to more. ;) I still wanna see this story hit 300 comments.) :D It means so much when someone takes the time to reward you (in a small way) for all your hard work, whether the comment is encouraging or critical.

I hope you all enjoyed this story, and keep your eyes open for more Cutoff Chronicles stories in the months to come! (I'll be offline the rest of the month with NaNoWriMo, but I'll try to get something up for late winter/early spring.)

Adios, mi amigos! :D

**EDIT: My first prequel, The Dawn of Rebellion, is finally up! (Or hopefully it will be, by the time anyone sees this.) Either way, be sure to check it out! **


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